We Are Stronger Than We Look
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: We are stronger than we look, wiser than you think, braver than you wish. We live for the moment and take each day at a time. We do not fall and we do not hurt. We are human...One-shots about the females in Harry Potter. Might be a little 'dark' in some chapters.
1. Hannah Abbott: One of Many

_**As usual, I don't own any of this. And, yes, I am starting a new drabble series about females in Harry Potter. Written for the 'Wand Wood Competition' by TrueBeliever831, using the category Ash (Write about a Hufflepuff) as well as for the 'One-Shot a Day Competition' by InLoveWithLaughing Sorry about sort of going over the 1000 word limit. **_

….

For that simple moment, she was absolutely fantastic; practically floating on clouds. She could barely contain her own happiness and wanted to share it with everyone she knew. _Look at me! Look at me! _

But no one did. She was one girl in a sea of many, and who cared if one girl had gotten a boyfriend who was, to be honest, not all that much compared to others.

But she loved him; Neville, the boy who would never let anyone put him down. And she was in love-completely in love-with him, for that simple moment. Their first kiss, their first date. The first time he had ever held her hand-she remembered each one of them with perfect detail. Neville was _hers_. No one else's, and that was what she had always wanted. To be his. And, for that simple moment, she was the happiest she had ever been, with him.

Neville Longbottom fascinated her. He used to be so shy and quiet, just like her, and now he was so loud. Neville stepped up over the years, became the hero everyone always knew he would be. Hannah wasn't sure which version of him she liked more. Certainly, having a crush on the shy, awkward version of Neville had been easier; no one else was interested in him. But now that he was a hero, many girls swooned and acted like they had been in love for years.

Hannah had always had a crush on him, even in First Year. The way he stumbled and crashed into things, the way he got lost. How it was nearly a school-wide effort just to keep him away from the trick steps or the moving staircases. Neville was real and honest. She liked honest people.

….

Hannah was pleased with where she was. Hufflepuff, sweet, innocent Hufflepuff. They were not like any other house, with some stereotyped norm.(Hufflepuffs had _no norm_. They _were _the norm. The ones that everyone else was based off, because the house of Hufflepuff let in all sorts. They weren't picky. What was the point, when there were just so many different people?) Hannah was the perfect Hufflepuff. She adopted the behaviors of those around her. A sponge, she soaked up attitudes and mannerisms, echoing them. Copying.

Hannah loved being a Hufflepuff-it was the perfect way to just observe, rather than be observed. She wasn't one for spotlight; she watched movies, but had no desire to be in them, like her cousin. Most people found it strange that Hannah was so insistent on her desire to blend in, but in Hufflepuff, it was fine. Hufflepuffs could be whatever they wanted, no restrictions.

Hannah had invisible for a large portion of her life before Hogwarts. Even though she was an only child, Hannah lived with her many cousins in Gram's house. Ellie-Hannah's mum-was not always sure how to take care of Hannah on her own, and it was just so easy to leave Hannah at Gram's house, where she would be fed and clothed and educated.

(Ellie Abbott was not a _bad _mother, simply just a young one who wasn't quite sure what she was doing with her life. She loved her daughter, and understood she could be raised much better by Gram than Ellie. It wasn't a matter of not _loving _Hannah enough, it was a matter of not being fit for motherhood.)

….

Hannah had never been what she considered to be 'beautiful'. Not in the way that Cho Chang or Ginny Weasley was. She wasn't _ugly_, but, certainly, no one's first choice when looking for a mate. At least, physically. Hannah liked to think that Neville appreciated her for her charm and sense of humour, since she was lacking ever so slightly in the looks department. Hannah liked her long, blonde hair that she had gotten from both her parents, and she was tall and skinny, but she simply just didn't have a face for modelling. A 'blended' face, hidden amongst the crowd.

(Perfect for Hannah Abbott, who _lived _hidden in a crowd. Who _enjoyed _remaining a sweet, unknown person to the rest of her class mates. A mystery that they didn't even know was mysterious. She had friends, but they were just for the school year. Certainly, she would never invite any of them home over the break.)

(Was Hannah really honest? Did it count as lying if she simply just didn't say anything at all?)

….

"_Hannah, will you go out with me? To dinner, I mean. The Weird Sisters are having a concert next Tuesday, and I know you like them, so I thought you might be interested." _

She had been so hesitant, yet so eager, having waited nearly ten years for this day. Waiting for him to say yes, because Gram had always said that a lady waited for the gentleman to ask her out. She had waited ten years, and clearly, Gram knew a little more than Hannah had given him credit for, because she and Neville had been dating for seventeen months (she was tempted to count the days, the seconds that they spent together) and they were happy.

"_I think...I think it might be time for us to move beyond just dinner dates and going to parties together. I think...Hannah, I just wanted to know if you'd like to move in with me, to my flat." _

She had said no, thank you, she quite enjoyed her little place above the Leaky Cauldron, where she was close to work. She appreciated the offer, but it would just be more convenient where she was. Neville had seemed somewhat put out, but he understood. She liked where she was, and Neville quite liked it, too. Four months later, he moved in with _her_.

No one ever had to tell Hannah Abbott that fantasies were just that-fantasies. Delusions of the mind and the inventions of little children. She did not need to tell Hannah that having fantasies of being popular and well-liked were far beyond the realms of possibility. But, Hannah had never really been the kind of girl who _strived _for popularity. She just wanted to live and be happy. She just wanted to be Hannah.

"_I like you, Nev."_

"_I like you, too, Hannah."_

"_No...I _like_-like you, is what I mean. As...more than a friend."_

"_Oh." She watched his face earnestly, waiting for him to respond with either an affirmation of mutual attraction or...not. His hand slipped over her's just then and she jumped, looking at him. Neville smiled encouragingly, and nodded. _

"_I kind of _like_-like you, too, Hannah. In fact...I kind of, sort of, might love you." _


	2. Padma Patil: One Half of a Patil

She is one half of a pair, one half of a set. _Parvati and Padma. Padma and Parvati. _Their names might as well be entertwined, forever ParvatiandPadma, forever connected. It seems that no one saw them as separate, singular entities, but rather, one whole person, neither complete without the other. And, on most days, that was perfectly fine. She could be one half of a person. But other days, it was a struggle to realise that when the others saw her, they were envisioning her sister at her shoulder. Parvati was not one half of a whole. She was one whole person, all by herself. An individual, just as much as everyone else.

The Weasley twins worked very well together, side by side at all times, never apart. _They _were the perfect example of identical twins, not even separated by house, as Padma and Parvati were. Both Gryffindors, both entirely one whole being. They thought the same and looked the same and, in some instances, could pretend they _were _the same, just one person. _GredandForge. _It was almost creepy to watch those two socialise.

Often, Padma and Parvati would be confused for each other by friends, which caused great confusion and annoyance, both between the two girls and their mates. But Padma was _not _Paravati. Paravati was _not _Padma. Separate people, separate lives. She wished people could open their eyes, see beyond the fact that they were twins, and see Padma as _herself_, completely alone. Not all twins want to be together all the time.

...

"Hey, Parvati!" some young Third Year Gryffindor said, waving at Padma. She sighed, but waves back, not ready to get into the usual 'I'm not Paravati, I'm her twin sister that everyone seems to have forgotten about' so early in the morning. It's obnoxious, having to respond to 'Hey, Parvati!', when she _isn't _Parvati (Doesn't behave like or or act like her. Really, they're just two people with the same face.)but she doesn't feel like starting anything. Not yet, at least. Instead, she continued down the stairs to breakfast. She sits amongst her Ravenclaw friends, chatting about some Potions paper they were meant to be writing.

("Well, I've already finished it," Sue Li was bragging. Padma didn't really care for Sue Li; she thought Sue was arrogant and snippy, not to mention always judging everyone she'd ever met. Sue's first words to Padma had been, "How do you think _you _earned _your _way in? I hope you intend on proving your worht in Ravenclaw, _I _certainly will be." )

And yet, even as she listened to them, Padma was finding it hard not to focus on that little girl, her words churning in her head. She could hear the Third Year-and all the others who have messed the two girls up-calling her Parvati.

"_Hi, Parvati!"_

("How long is it? Mine's nearly twenty inches. I think it could be longer, but at the same time, I don't really have anything else to put in it without sounding repetitive. Honestly, this was probably one of the harder ones.")

"_Hi, Parvati!" _

("Really? Mine's twenty-three inches in all. I worked on it all week; spent every moment I could in the library.I thought it was easy.")

"_Hi, Parvati!"_

"You guys don't think I'm my sister, do you?" she blurts, cutting into the other Ravenclaws conversation. They turned to look at her with confusion and-to some extent-annoyance. "I mean...if you saw Parvati in the hallway, would you accidentally call her Padma? Or do you _know _the difference between her and I? I mean, is it just a matter of us looking the same, or is there something else I can do to help differentiate us?"

"Of course we know the difference!" said Sue, laughing in her usual condescending way. Sue Li looked down on the people she felt weren't "true Ravenclaws"-namely Padma, Cho Chang, and Luna Lovegood. She was big ong judging and gossiping. (To be honest, Padma felt she would actually be a lot better off being friends with Parvati and Lavender Brown.)

"How?" she asks, curious. Desperate for some way that separates her from her sister, so obvious that even Sue Li would notice. What could _they _have noticed that none of the other students seemed to have seen? "How do you tell the difference?"

"Um, duh," Sue Li says, laughing at Padma. "You're in Ravenclaw and _she _isn't. You're smart ("more or less", Sue Li muttered under her breath) and your sister...well, let's just say she's a few cards short of a full deck."

"Excuse me?" Padma asks, glaring at Sue Li. "Are you calling my sister _stupid_? Because being in a House other than Ravenclaw doesn't make you necessarily _stupid_."

"Well, she _is _in Gryffindor. It's quite excusable, I suppose." Sue Li says, waving a hand at Padma, as if trying to shake off a particularly annoying dog.

"Yeah, they're not the brightest," said Terry, who was in love with Sue Li and agreed with nearly everything she said, no matter what she said or how ridiculous it sounded. "Gryffindors are just a bunch of self-absorbed jocks who won't amount to anything successful in life-not like us Ravenclaws."

"Yeah and if you really _look _at them, they kind of _are _stupid. Like that Lavender girl? Seriously, is her brain even functioning? Or is she only able to think about guys and clothes?"

"I know right? Gryffindor girls are _such _sluts!"

"You people are sickening," Padma wants to say. She wants to tell them that the Gryffindors are actually pretty decent people who can be very nice and helpful if one were to get to know them. She wants to mention that Parvati is actually _very _smart about certain things (like make-up and relationship advice) and wants to run her own advice column in The Daily Prophet when she gets older. But this, to the Ravenclaws, will only be seen as vapid and silly, not something to strive for. So she remains silent, not once defending her sister or her sister's house as Sue Li and her friends tear the house apart.

She feels sickened with herself. She feels...alone. Not quite the alone she had been wishing she was, but the alone of being completely abandoned, when everyone has walked away and you want to call out and bring them back. But no one is going to make her feel better about the fact that she is just sitting at this table, listening to Sue Li trash her sister, and she is doing _absolutely nothing _about it.


	3. Astoria Greengrass: Whoops

_**The definition for OCD was taken from PubMed Health, which I don't own. Written for the 'Wand Wood Competition' by TrueBeliever831, using the Category Cypress (Write about a Pureblood) **_

….

She liked things to be perfect. Perfectly placed, perfectly set. She liked to pair her friends up, claiming the couples would be 'perfect', because they had similar interests or similar behaviors. Her flat was spotless, clean to a fault. She went through it with a flashlight, looking for stray spots or stains that her eyes had missed in the light. She enjoyed perfection and the sense of accomplishment it gave her. (She hated her need for everything to be perfect and the way her obsession took over her life.)

She was nervous and anxious all the time, checking doors for fault locks, windows for cracks in the glass. She peered over books and essays for flaws and often found herself counting out loud the number of leaves she saw during walks, or the number of times she saw red shirts. Her hands shook as she tried to control these obsessions, but nothing ever seemed to work.

Sharing a dorm with five other girls for seven years nearly drove her to the edge. It was very rare for the house elves to have any need to clean up _their _dorm. Astoria took care of it all by herself, ignoring the teasing and jokes from her room mates. They called her a little house elf, intentionally made messes for her to clean up. She despised every last one of them, because none of them had any respect for her. It was some sort of joke for them to see how far she could be pushed.

At home, she kept her room spotless. There wasn't a single sock on the floor or a piece of paper out of place. She had a specific drawer for everything. She lived by the rule "a place for everything and everything in its place". It was Astoria's lifelong motto. Her sister, Daphne, at least, seemed to put some consideration into how she lived, _trying _to not make a big mess. But Astoria could find faults everywhere, and she had no choice but to point them out or fix it herself.

Daphne was the one who would usually have to bring Astoria back to her room, consoling her with promises that everything was fine, that the locks were hardy, that there was no _way _the window in Daddy's study was open, because no one had been in there for a week. Daphne was a good older sister, but she quickly became tired of baby-sitting her younger sister. Daphne would often sigh at Astoria, asking her why she felt the need to make the world flawless, when the world was fine the way it was, already.

It was _not _that she wanted to be able to see the little mistakes in the world; she just _could_, and it drove her mad. She was capable of doing an essay for class six or seven times simply because she needed to start over due to _one _little ink droplet. She hated the way this..._obsession _took over her life, controlled her with a strong, iron fist.

_OCD_ was among the main theories floated around behind closed doors. She had looked through Daddy's library, finding a book about disorders. _Obsessive-compulsive disorder is an anxiety disorder in which people have unwanted and repeated thoughts, feelings, ideas, sensations (obsessions), or behaviors that make them feel driven to do something (compulsions). Often the person carries out the behaviors to get rid of the obsessive thoughts, but this only provides temporary relief. Not performing the obsessive rituals can cause great anxiety._

"OCD," she thought to herself. "That sounds like what _I _have." But, even with an official name for her 'problem', she was still ashamed of it. She usually just passed it off as a nervous habit.

….

Astoria had always thought Draco Malfoy was flawed. That is why she had never really cared for him, because he was a crooked painting, a cracked vase. He was quick to judge and look down on others. He was unpredictable (Astoria hated surprises) and never was on time to anything. So, why was it that he set her heart fluttering? What was it about his pale blonde hair that made her feel like she could do anything she wanted to?

Astoria had not been aware of Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy being an _item_ until she saw Pansy sitting at the table one morning. Draco had invited her over and things had been a little weird at first (she felt like he was hiding something) but they had fallen into bed hot and moaning. Draco had forgotten to mention that his girlfriend was sleeping in another room a few corridors down from where Draco and Astoria were having sex.

"Good morning," said Pansy, looking up at her in surprise. Astoria did not recognise Pansy at first, assuming she was just a maid of Draco's. (Pansy had, up until a few years ago, somewhat long, blonde hair, but she had recently dyed in very dark brown, for reasons even _she _wasn't sure about.) The two watched each other cautiously for a moment, before Astoria smiled and took a seat across from Pansy. She didn't know why Pansy was here, but she wasn't going to let the older woman intimidate her like others had in school.

"Greengrass, right?" Pansy asked, frowning. "Daphne's little sister? You were the really quiet one, everyone always said you liked cleaning or something."

"I have um," Astoria stammered, and Pansy frowned. "Uh, it's not really anything. Just a nervous h-habit is all. You know how that is, right?" She laughed nervously. Astoria had never been very comfortable sharing her 'condition' with other people.

"Oh, is that all? Is one of your nervous habits sleeping at my boyfriend's house with my being aware of it?"

Astoria spluttered, gawking at the older woman. _Boyfriend_? Draco didn't _date_, he slept around with whoever the hell he wanted. And right now, who he wanted was Astoria. Since when had he gotten a _girlfriend_? And why, if he did, was he sleeping with Astoria instead?

"H-how long have you been going out?"

"It seems like forever. A few years, why?"

"Oh, no reason. Excuse me, I need to go talk to Draco for a moment about...about a party."

"Alright, whatever. Have fun." Pansy said, taking a bite of her pancakes, completely unaware of what was going on. What had been going for three months now.

_Whoops. _


	4. Cho Chang: Butterfly

_**Written for the 'Cho Chang Competition' by Empress Emploeon as well as for the 'Wand Wood Competition' by TrueBeliever831, under the category of Walnut (Write about a Ravenclaw) So, this is Cho Chang's. **_

….

According to her mother, Cho was named after a great-great-grandmother on her mother's side. The grandmother had been a beautiful painter, though none of the grandmother's painting were hung up inside Cho's home (all her paintings had been long ago lost or destroyed, though Mrs. Chang believed that one or two might possibly exist, left behind somewhere.). Her mother used to tell stories of the wonderful places the grandmother would visit, and the beautiful paintings she made every time she went some where new.

"She saw the beauty in every thing; every ray of sun, every beat of a butterfly wing. _That _is why they called her Cho, because, while she did paint nearly everything, she loved to paint butterflies most of all."

Cho had never really grasped the story of her great-great-grandmother before now. She just assumed it was a story her mother told her in an effort to make Cho believe in her own artistic talent, of which Cho had none. Her name meant '_butterfly_' in Japanese. It meant '_beautiful_' in Korean. Her mother would tell her stories, as a child, about the butterflies who loved their bright, colourful wings because it made them pretty. She grew to hate the stories, though. Because her name meant '_butterfly_'. It meant '_beautiful_'. It meant that she was supposed to be _both _of these things, but no matter how hard she tried, she never came close.

Never before had Cho Chang felt that she ever lived up to either of these meanings. She was pretty, but she was not beautiful like everyone told her. She did not wake up flawless every morning; in fact, Cho was known to spend most of her morning ritual applying products to her face to get a more _naturally beautiful _look. Ironic, yes, but it was what boys first noticed about her, that she seemed to be so effortlessly pretty. Cho liked when others thought she was pretty, when they called her graceful and sweet.

Cho was also never really a butterfly. She felt that butterflies were light and unburdened. How could she be a butterfly, when she was always in tears over Cedric and Harry and school work. When she could never find a peaceful moment to rest and close her eyes. Hide from the world. Because that is what she would always do, behind her make-up kits and pretty clothes. She hid, or she would be broken. The world seemed to enjoy breaking young, pretty girls like her.

She refused to tell anyone how much it hurt to see Harry and that..._Weasley _together, all the time, like they were so in love. Like they understood what love was. It should have been _Cho _with him, holding his hand. Laughing at his jokes. She had never felt _less _beautiful, less like a happy, flying butterfly before. Harry...oh, she wished Harry could love her. Cho, at least, had very strong feelings for him, but she felt she could even go so far as to love him. _Loving _him completely, knowing he would do anything for her.

It had taken many years to understand that she needed to move on with her life, needed to move past all the foolish mistakes she had made. It took a young man and a painting of a butterfly. His name was Michael Corner just a year younger than her. Even in her same House, but Cho had not wanted anything to do with him since they broke up. Until Michael had shown up with a painting of a beautiful butterfly that he had painted especially for her. (When she first saw it, she cried. He never understood why exactly, but she stood on her doorstep, laughing and crying.) They had tentatively decided to start dating again. The painting still hung over their living room. A reminder.

(Cho had nearly decided to marry a Muggle man, but they had decided together that things weren't really going to work out between them.) By the time she was twenty, Cho was married, which was something she had never expected.

Cho could never admit the truth-that she was _afraid _of the future. Of the rest of the world, which changed too much and moved too fast. She had lost two boyfriends (one to death and the other to a very _foolish _mistake) and her best friend, Marietta, was gone. Dead, with only a little girl left behind.

_Cho_. _Cho_.

Marietta had named her daughter _Cho_, after her best friend, knowing that Cho Chang (Corner, now) could take care of the girl. Would _love _to take care of the daughter. The two girls had been growing distant ever since Sixth Year when...but that was not what mattered. What mattered was that she had this little girl, this daughter to take care. What was probably the most surprising part was being handed this eight month old little girl, being told she was _yours_. Your daughter.

(Sure, Cho would go on to have other children, but this was her _first_, her little Cho. Marietta gave birth to her, but this little girl was _hers_. Hers, forever.)

("_Your name means 'butterfly' in one language and 'beautiful' in another. Some days, you will feel that you are not beautiful, but remember, my little Cho, you are always beautiful, and you are always as innocent and delicate as the butterflies in our garden. My own mother used to tell me stories of an old grandmother-my great-great-grandmother, actually-who they called Cho because she used to love painting butterflies. One day, you will understand the importance of butterflies. One day, my darling little Cho. _

_Remember, Mummy loves you, my Cho. My butterfly.") _

….

_**I always feel like Cho is always treated like a floozy, and isn't quite given enough credit. This is mainly due to the fact that we only see her through Harry's eyes, and Harry broke up with her. I often think...Cho doesn't quite **belong **in Ravenclaw, but she **is **smart, in her own way. **_


	5. Andromeda Tonks: Cookies and Motherhood

_**This was written for the 'Wand Wood Competition' by TrueBeliever831 for the category Rowen (write about a parent and their child.) I was (to be honest) going to do something between Tom Sr. and Tom Jr., but this just seemed cuter. (Though, I might be talked into writing the Sr/Jr moment in the future, hint hint) Also written for the 'Dark Side Competition' by Emperor Empoleon, with the category Cookies (write about something happy or a fluff story) **_

….

Andromeda Tonk's one goal in life was that she never, _ever _raised her own daughter in the same manner that her own mother, Druella, had raised her.

_i._

_My mother never told me she loved me. _

"I hate school, I'm never going back. The kids at school are mean to me, Mummy," Nymphadora (or Dora, as she insisted on being called) told her mother, sniffling. She was five years old and had started school the most recent September.

"What?" Andromeda asked, giving her daughter a distracted glance. She had been working on a Christmas letter for her cousin Sirius when Dora clambered off the bus, loudly declaring the age-old statement of five year olds everywhere.

"The kids at school, Mummy. They make fun of me and said my hair is purple. They said it was unnatural and the teacher told me to take it out. I don't know what they mean, Mummy. My hair isn't purple, right? I didn't _mean _for it to change colour, Mummy. Honest, I _didn't_. "

Andromeda glanced at her daughter to see that, yes, her hair _was _purple. She sighed, scooping up the little girl and kissed Dora on the cheek. Often, Dora would forget that her emotions controlled her appearances, especially her hair colour.

"Don't worry, darling, just concentrate on making it brown again. Remember what Healer Gall said? Just concentrate on the colour brown."

Dora nodded and shut her eyes tightly, concentrating. She frowned very hard, and her hair slowly faded from the very unnatural purple back to her softer brown hair colour. She sighed, opening her eyes and looked up at Andromeda.

"Mummy, you like my hair when it's all colourful, right"

"I love your hair whatever the colour, Dora. I love _you_, no matter what you look like. Remember that, sweetheart, I will _never _stop loving you, whatever you do."

_ii._

_My mother never tried to bond with me. _

"Mummy," the little girl asked, watching her mother rolling pieces of dough into round balls. Andromeda, who was twenty-five, turned to smile at her daughter. Nymphadora shrugged and pointed at the dough. "What's wrong with this one? It looks all funny."

It was the first time Andromeda had ever attempted to make cookies in her life, and this was all a big experiment. When she had asked Ted for help, he had only laughed and told her that things would work out fine. It was meant to be a bonding moment between mother and daughter, both learning how to make cookies.

(Andromeda was actually kind of excited. As a child, she had not been allowed to have sweets except for at parties.)

"This?" she repeated, looking at the plop of dough. It was oddly misshapen and Andromeda didn't recall having rolled it. "Where did this come from?" She leaned in closer, peering at it. Just then, Dora grabbed the dough and mashed it into her mother's cheek, giggling.

"Got you, Mummy! You fell for it!" she laughed, watching the bit of dough drop from her mother's cheek to the floor. Andromeda paused for a second, still in a state of shock. She suddenly grinned, making Dora nervous, and reached for some more dough.

"Oh, you are _so _in for it, now, young lady!" she yelled, jumping up at her her daughter.

_iii._

_My mother never showed me how much she cared. _

"Mummy, look at my drawing!" Nymphadora yelled, running into her mother's office. She had gotten off the bus from school and was carrying a very large painting of what appeared to be swirly stick people of various colours.

"Dora, I'm busy. Please, can't you show it to me later?" Andromeda said, huffing. She was busy trying to finish up on her article for the local Muggle newspaper about the dangers of children being ignored.

"Ok, fine." Dora said, frowning sadly. The little girl walked off, leaving Andromeda alone.

She paused, just as she was writing the word '_desperate_' and looked up. A memory of her own mother sending her out of the room, saying she was too busy or didn't want to see Dromeda right then flashed through her mind. Oh, Merlin, she was turning into her _mother_.

"Hey, Dora." she called towards the five year old. "C'mere, I want to see your lovely painting."

"Alright, Mummy!" the little girl cried, running back in with excitement.

_iv._

_My mother told me I was worthless. I told her I hated her. _

"I hate you! I _hate _you!" the fifteen year old girl yelled. Her fists were clenched and she yelled at her mother, going red in the face. Literally so, her hair and cheeks flushing a deep red colour.

"Yeah? Well, you're not exactly any better, right now, Nymphadora!" Andromeda yelled back.

"Don't _call me Nymphadora! I hate that name!_"

"You think I care what you like or don't like? You think your opinion matters at all in this household right now, young lady? You are fifteen years old-do you think you have the right to speak to me like this?"

"Of course I do-"

"When I was _your _age, I respected my mother. I was polite and did everything she told me to do, no matter what. You would be wise to do the same, instead of acting so worthless."

Dora froze, stunned. Andromeda shook her head, wishing she could take those words back. Remembering her mother calling her worthless as child.

"Do you really think I am worthless, Mum?"

"No, no. _No_, of course not. I would never mean that. _Never_. You are very precious to me, Nympha...Dora. You're precious. You are absolutely _not _worthless."

….

_**I fail at fluff, and this was a real challenge. I tried, honestly I did. I shall except your critique about my horrible fluff writing because it is horrible. This is seriously the closest I will ever be able to get to fluff. **_


	6. Sue Li: The Very Best She Could Be

_**When I first started this particular story, I was aware that one of my good friends had tried to take her life the previous Tuesday. Written for the 'Dark Side Competition' by Empress Empoleon. **_

….

She put absolutely _everything _she had into this one thing. _Everything_. And what was it all for? She had no one left, no friends. They had all gone, all left her, because she was _so _obsessed with her work. With achieving, with surpassing all her classmates, academically. She had always wanted to be top of her class, so she could prove her worth as a Ravenclaw.

Sure, most people saw the Ravenclaws as nerds and kiss-asses and teacher's pets, but at least they were _headed _somewhere great. Ravenclaws often made it pretty high up in the Ministry, and often were world-wide famous for years to come. Many were also top of their class. People always assumed that Ravenclaw was full of stuck up bitches who kept their rooms clean to a fault. This wasn't always true, though. (Sue herself was a mess. She could never keep track of things.)

That was what Sue Li's entire goal was, from the second she got her acceptance letter. She had known for a long time that she was magical, that she was a witch, and Sue had taken full advantage of this knowledge. She studied for hours and had her brother quiz her all the time about various spells and battles, or timed her to see how long it took to make a potion. She was obsessed with being the brightest and the best.

_Damn _that Hermione Granger, the Muggleborn that managed to surpass every single student (including Sue!) despite having no previous studies. She was _naturally _smart and enjoyed studying. It wasn't an effort for Granger, and Sue hated her for that. It became an unspoken contest between the two of them, to see who could get the highest grades, write the longest essays.

Most people would have said she went a little overboard, that she was putting all her eggs in one basket. Her mother often sent letters asking if Sue had met a boy she was interested in, and the answer was always a firm and definite _no! _She had no time for boys when there was things to be learned-so many things that she barely had enough time to eat most days. But Mrs. Li didn't get it, she was the _Muggle _parent. Mr. Li understood-he had been a Ravenclaw as well. He understood the stress Sue was under.

Often, Sue's friends, especially Lisa, worried after her. They said she was too skinny, that she looked tired. They were Ravenclaws, too, but they didn't quite see the same way as her. They saw school as _important_, but it was not everything to them. Not like her.

"What are you going to do when we've graduated? When there's nothing left to be learned? You'll need to get a real job at some point, Ms. Li. A real job that pays. You can not just _sit around _all day and read, you know." Flitwick told her in Fifth Year, when they were going over possible career options for her. "Your grades are phenomenal-you're second over all, Ms. Li. You could have _any _job you want. Why have you not considered any of them?"

"None of them interest me, sir. I just don't _see _myself behind some desk in the Ministry. I know us Ravenclaws are often succeeding-and I know _I _personally have the grades to pretty much succeed anywhere. How could I not? But I do not want to succeed like every other Ravenclaw. I want to do it _my _way. I want to be a researcher, I want to study all my life. That's my _obsession_-learning, absorbing information."

"But, Ms. Li-"

"What's Hermione Granger doing?" she demanded. Flitwick jumped and licked his lips, eyes flickering at Sue nervously. He knew about her battle against Hermione Granger to be top of the class, and found it to be quite unhealthy. He had told her as much, saying that she ought to learn for the love of learning, not to show that she was better than anyone else. By getting the grades, she would be proving herself smarter, anyway.

"I-I...I'm not qualified to access that information. Ms. Granger's Head of House is in charge of her course qualifications and requests, not me. Besides, that is _private _information."

She had put _everything _into this. She put absolutely _everything _she had into this one thing. _Everything_. And what was it all for? She had failed a class. Defence Against the Dark Arts, to be exact. Most people would have been fine, because it was the only one-and she hadn't even failed it. She'd gotten an 'A'. A, for Acceptable. As in, not absolutely _one hundred percent _fucking perfect. She was still second in her class, but that one A, laughing at her. _Mocking _her. She had gotten a lower grade than _Harry fucking Potter_, who, to be honest, wasn't the smartest.

(Except for, apparently, Defence class.)

This only meant that she had failed herself, had failed her honour as a Ravenclaw. A _true _Ravenclaw, who was more concerned about learning than anything else. Not friends, not love, not even food. She would have to try harder, have to put more effort in it. No matter how long it took, she would never give up. She would never be less than anyone else.

Never again.

Even if it killed her. She would give her everything, if it meant being the best of everyone. It wasn't _good _enough to just try her best. It wasn't _good _enough for her to achieve 'Outstandings'. She had to be literally perfect. Flawless. A fucking sculpture for years to come, engraved-_Sue Li, the perfect student. _

"_There's no need to push yourself too far, Sue."_

Who got to define what 'too far' was? Who got to decide whether or not what she was doing was overboard? She wasn't _obsessing_-she was demanding mental perfection of herself. She _needed perfection. _

Nothing less would ever do. (But that didn't mean she had a problem. Not with 'obsessing', not like Morag and Lisa tried to tell her. She did _not _have a problem.)

….

_**I said I'd give an explanation as to why Sue Li bothers me so much. I dunno why, it's just, I can't help but conjure up this image of some snarky Ravenclaw version of Lavender crossed with Pansy. She's the Ravenclaw Queen Bitch.**_

_**I'm a Ravenclaw, but I don't think I'm as extreme as Sue. **_


	7. Pansy Parkinson: Her Mistake

Her head rested against the wooden chair, her eyes closed. She felt comfortable...relaxed..._content_. Right now, she didn't have a single problem, besides wondering where Draco and she would be heading for supper Somewhere downstairs, she could hear Draco talking to someone, but for now, she felt no need to join him. She would probably be nothing more than a bother to him anyway.

Recently, that was all Pansy had felt like: a bother. He was too distracted, too busy with work, too tired. They hadn't spoken, _properly _spoken in a while; usually it was a few rushed words of instruction over supper or a slight moan of pleasure during sex. But, even the sex had died quite a bit.

Draco no longer seemed to feel she was enough. Or, possibly, had _never _been enough. But every time she tried to ask him, he merely laughed and said she was imagining things. That it was Pansy's wild and overactive imagination making her think these things. (Pansy had heard these words before, between her mother and father and didn't take Draco's words at face value.) It had her _seeing _things when Draco was completely innocent. Pansy was always worried that Draco didn't love her, despite his proclamations otherwise. She was not a beauty-she knew that much, one had to be _blind _not to see there were plenty of prettier girls than she-and she knew Draco was rich. Any girl would want him, even if he had been convicted as a Death Eater at one point.

Downstairs, Draco and his company had gotten louder, angrier. She winced, glad that _she _was not the cause of Draco's anger. He could get very, _very _aggressive when he was angry, and Pansy was not much of a fighter. She was a screamer, oh yes, she could scream. (Her mother had taught her early on how to scream when a man touched her in a way she didn't like.) She liked to scream to get her way, to get Draco to leave her alone, but Draco was almost forty pounds heavier than her. If he wanted to pin her against the wall, she could scream all she wanted, but there was nothing she could do besides that. What could she do against him?

She had never expected to be in this situation, afraid and suspicious of her own boyfriend. In school, Pansy had been in charge, in control of her own little gang of Pureblooded girls. They had been _better _than everyone else in the school, and Pansy had been the top of all. Pansy had been a...well, _bully _was really the best word for it. _Mean girl, rich bitch, queen bee, Pureblood Princess_. They all meant the same thing: that she was better than every other girl in school, whether they knew it or not. Mudblood Granger had been one of the worst, never really learning her place at the bottom. But now, with the war over and the pro-Muggle side victorious, it was very hard to find anyone who would openly agree with her angry words

She heard yelling once more and, her eyes closed and brow furrowed, she got to her feet, walking out of the room. She could hear the voices, could make out a female voice. _Who was that? _Pansy peeked over the balcony, seeing Draco with some blonde girl, who couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen years old. She seemed delicate, much like a child, and Pansy found herself very much puzzled. She had never seen this girl before and Pansy was fairly certain Draco hadn't either.

The blonde girl was leaning very closely towards Draco now, her fingers dancing across his arms, and Draco _wasn't pushing her away. _Pansy wanted to yell down, ask what the _hell _they were doing, but she was curious at the same time. _How far would this go? _The girl was even closer now, close enough to kiss someone-namely Draco-if she wanted to. But, then, Draco was the one who moved in, who's pink lips made contact against hers. (_The same lips that kissed you just last night._)

"Draco!" she yelled this now, her cheeks going pink. How dare he? Especially with _Pansy _in the house, just minutes away! Her eyes are wide and she wants to throw up, but she is a screamer and all Pansy can do right now is scream. "Draco, what in the _hell _are you doing?"

The seventeen year old looked up, half terrified, half looking ready to snicker. She made eye contact with Pansy, and a name clicked to place in Pansy's mind. (_Juliet Marcafoski, Hufflepuff_) How dare she, the little slut. Recently graduated from Hogwarts, in full mind that Draco had a girlfriend. Draco stared up at her with wide eyes full of fear as she stomped down the stairs, glaring at him.

"How _dare you?_ How DARE YOU? I have dated you for years-_years_! How dare you betray me like this! How many others?" she asked, something dawning on her. She had heard giggling in the night, snickers and murmurs. "How many others have you dated behind my back, Draco? Two, five, ten? The entire _Wizarding population_? Am I not good enough for you? Did I not make you happy, Draco?"

"Pansy-" he said, already making excuses.

"No. No, I don't want to hear it, Draco. I'm _done_. We're done, forever. I'm leaving-I'm packing my things and I'm leaving. I don't want to see you again, or talk to you. I _hate _you. Go on, you and Juliet have your fun, I'm _gone._"

He did not follow after her. He never did. He never would. Draco did not love her, probably had not loved her for years. That was why he needed the others, because she was not good enough for him. Had never-would never-be good enough for him. And she hated him for that. Oh, how she hated him. He deserved better, though. He deserved someone prettier (like Juliet) or smarter (like Granger) or even braver. Because she was not good enough.

Had she _ever _been good enough?


	8. Luna Lovegood: Good Night, Moon

_**Written for the 'Dark Side Competition' by Emperor Empoleon, using the category 'Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem' (write about Luna). This was written the same day as 'Sue Li', 'Pansy Parkinson', and 'Andromeda Tonks'-all in an effort to avoid doing my HGAP research paper about Germany. **_

….

_Luna, the Moon child. _

It should have been obvious to most people who have ever had a long enough conversation with Luna Lovegood that she was..._not _quite altogether there. Oh, she was pleasant, and clever enough in her own way, but she often took to coming up with so many strange little (non-existent) creatures. The others in her house thought she was...well, _weird_. Often, she was called the Not-Quite Ravenclaw behind her back. It wouldn't have made a difference if they said it to her face, though. That was another weird thing about Luna._ She just didn't care. _

Terry was amongst the worst when it came to her tormentors. He tripped Luna in the hallway, stole her shoes and books, and made up rumours about the blonde (all courtesy of instructions from his 'one true love', Sue Li, who was _far _too busy studying to actually bully Luna herself.). It angered Sue and Terry that Luna never properly reacted the way she ought to. She did not cry or fuss or demand that they _bring her things back right this instant! _She was, to put it frankly, not normal.

Even Luna's own friends judged her, to some extent. They assumed that she was a few crisps short of a full bag. Oh, they tried to just go along with her strange delusions and her little antics, but it was clear that even _they _looked down on her. Even if it was just a little. They loved her, Luna, but she puzzled them.

The elusive Moon child. A forever sort of mystery-the kind that did not quite ever want to be solved.

….

"_Good night, Moon." _

This was the voice of Luna's mother, who had long ago recorded her voice for the nights she would not be there for her little girl, to read her to sleep. The recordings were somewhat scratchier than they had been, but they worked fine enough and Luna listened to them every night. It was the time that she felt closest to her mother, like she was practically in the room, actually reading to Luna.

Often, Luna would cry as she listened to her mum's voice, softly repeating the words she had listened to for seventeen years. She was nineteen now, and she was listening to her mum's voice like it was the only thing that would cure her from her sadness. Sometimes, it _was _the only thing that could cure her from her sadness.

"_Good night light, and the red balloon." _

"Luna?" Xeno called softly, peeking into his daughter's bedroom. He knew about the recordings, knew that she carried them everywhere, could mimic her mother's voice flawlessly. Xeno dared not take away the only lasting memory of her mother. He dare not hurt her in this way, even if he knew it was _wrong _for her to depend on these tapes so much. But, she was growing up-and part of growing up was learning how to let go of the past, wasn't it?

"Luna?" he said again, and Luna looked up, her wide blue eyes shimmering with tears. How very much she reminded Xeno of her mother, a lovely woman named Evangeline. He missed her just as much as Luna, possibly even more, because he had been so _deeply _in love with her. But Evanna and Luna had always had a near impossible connection, even when Luna was very little.

"Luna, sweetheart, are you okay?"

She smiled at him, and it was probably the truest smile anyone has ever given. (Luna did not smile if she did not mean it. What was the point of wasting happiness?) "I'm fine, Daddy. I was just listening to the tapes again." She sniffled, but patted the end of her bed, offering Xeno a spot next to her. He sat down, gazing intently at the blonde girl.

"You miss her," Xeno said somewhat bluntly. (This was not a house of hidden meanings.) "Evanna. You miss her, don't you? The tapes..do they make you feel closer to her, Luna?"

"Yes, Daddy. When I listen to them, I feel as if Mummy is in the room with me, back when I was little. I love the tapes, and I love listening to them."

"I can tell. But Luna, sweetheart, you're nineteen. Don't you think you are a little too..._old _for Good Night, Moon? You listen to those tapes every night, do you even need them any more?"

"I need them, Daddy." she said calmly, her voice steady and sure. "I need them very much. Please-" for she had realised where this conversation was going almost immediately. (No one would ever say that Luna Lovegood was not observant.) "please, Daddy. Don't take the tapes away-please don't."

She looked ready to cry again, and Xeno felt awful for even bringing it up. Why did he seem to always mess thing sup when it came to Luna and her mother? He always made her cry and it hurt him to see his little Moon cry.

"I won't take them away from you, Luna. Of course not-you shouldn't ever be separated from your mother. Good night, Luna. _Good night, Moon._" he said, echoing the words from the story. She smiled up at him, kissing Xeno on the forehead.

"Good night, Daddy. I love you, and I love Mummy. I can't wait to see her, one day."

"She can't wait to see you, either, Luna. Now, sleep, my darling. Go rest your pretty little head now."

"Night-night, Daddy." Xeno smiled softly, tiptoeing from the room. The tape made a rustling noise as it wound down, nearly finished. Luna sighed, saying the very last line in unison with her mother's voice from so very long ago.

"_Good night noises everywhere." _

….

_**I happen to personally love Luna. She's boss. She's one of my favorite Trio-generation characters, right after Astoria Greengrass. (And, she makes a better Ravenclaw than Sue Li) **_

_**And, yes, Mrs. Lovegood's name is my shout out to the beautiful Evanna Lynch. **_


	9. Bellatrix Lestrange: Madness Adore

_**Written for the 'Dark Side Competition' by Empress Empoleon, using the category 'Salazar Slytherin's Locket' (Write about a Black) And what better Black to write about than our favorite lunatic? Kudos to Caterina for having to put up with me about this. (3 you)**_

_***edited for mistakes pointed out by a reviewer.**_

...

The voices in her head, the ones that spoke to her, whispered secrets and truths and lies, all rolled up together. (_We are always here, Bella. Why would we leave such a pretty, hopeful young girl as you? When you are so very much aware. We understand you, Bellatrix. You'd never want to leave us and we know you never will._)

She found madness to be somewhat _delicious_. Nearly _invigorating_. Locked up in Azkaban, (_for life_) Bellatrix still remained free. Dementors couldn't touch_her_, because she didn't allow them to. The screams around her only made Bellatrix feel that much more sane. The screams of tortured, dying souls. _Weak souls_, with nothing to live for.

(_What do you have to live for, Bella? Where's the proof he's even still out there?_)

She had long ago gone mad, that was why the Dementors seemed to have less of an effect on her. When the others screamed and begged for mercy, she simply laughed and counted the days. She was no longer as pretty as she had been, but in Azkaban, beauty did not matter. How long you could stay sane was the most important thing and Bellatrix was here to play a game. Some say she was born mad, but it is more likely that she simply went mad the way most girls do...she fell in love.

No one would ever willingly call Lord Voldemort handsome. (N_o one sane. But, then again, have you ever been entirely sane?_) He simply just didn't look..._human_. Over the years, his followers had watched the man previously known as Tom Riddle slowly shift into the form he wore now. He was strange to look at, and most people would have called his features snake-like. Bellatrix found that she, unlike others, could look past the snake, could see the human soul that still existed deep within him. She saw the madness in his eyes, and she _loved it_. Loved the way he was so..._invigorating._

Madness attracts more madness, doesn't it? Isn't that what they say-that the crazies congregate like flies? (_Define crazy. I don't feel crazy. Is it crazy to want to be with him, by his side? Or is it just the perfect goal?_) Because the first time she ever saw Tom Riddle (back when he still _went_by Tom Riddle, when Voldemort was just an idea, a firm, strong idea-but nothing totally concrete, not yet.) she fell in love with him. Even then, she knew he understood her, understood her need to see the Muggles dead. Dead and gone, all of them.

He knew the truth, that the scum of the earth needed to be taught a lesson, and Bellatrix was the perfect teacher. She had just the right amount of wrongness in her, the right level of _insanity_, if you will forgive the word, to be able to show those of lesser rank the truth. He called her many names, all of them lovely. Truth-bringer, Black Mad, Muggleborn's Fearsome. Bellatrix Black, later Bellatrix Lestrange, though she belonged to another man. (_In name only. You've always been saving yourself for someone better._)

And, becuase there was someone else out there-someone else like her, who understood what she felt, what she thought-it was so much easier to live. She could smile and pretend like the dreams did not haunt her at night. She could laugh and pretend her heart beat only for Rodolphus. She could torture the filthy, the ones who did not deserve to breath, and not feel a thing. No guilt, no pain. Not like some of the others, who were not _pure_and _true_, like she was. Bellatrix Black, completely devoted to the end.

(_The end of what? Your life? He's going to take that away from you._)

Her mad cousin, Sirius, could howl all he want. He could sob all he wanted to, accuse her of horrible 'crimes' that he called absolute atrocities. She called it cleaning, scourging the earth of those unfit to live. Those that were not like her. But, then again, little Sirius had always been a different sort of Black. The kind that drifted away...the kind that was not ready for the kind of pureness that Bellatrix yearned for.

(_He is hardly a Black at all, really_.)

(_Perhaps Sirius needs to be taught a lesson. Like the Longbottoms. Remember them? You had lots of __fun with them, remember? You loved the way she screamed, the way he begged you to take him-just leave her alone._)

Such devotion between a husband and wife. Such tenderness. Bellatrix had never seen such tenderness, not amongst her Pureblooded so-called 'supremacist' family. Tenderness was not a thing that such families allowed. Emotion, sadness, anger. These were wrong. But the begging, the stroking of her hair before Rabastan had finally pointed his wand at Longbottom, cackling.

(_Was such love really possible? Could two people like them know how to love_?)

Love meant devotion, love meant doing whatever you were told-even if all you got was pain back. Love was knowing he would never love you back, so you might as well marry Rodolphus and be done with it. Love was not kisses or murmured words. Not for Bellatrix.

So why was it that way for the Longbottoms? Why did _they _get to be happy, together, in their last moments, yet she-who loved her Master more than anything-could not even get her Lord to even look at her with kindnees in his eyes?

(_You are too mad, even for him. He loves you, but he despises you even more._)

So she would wait for him, prove that she was devoted to him, even more than ever. And he would love her, not despise her. Maybe, just maybe, he would look at her with a kindness (_Except Voldemort doesn't know kindness, now does he? He doesn't understand gentle touches and soft kisses. He is pain, remember? And you used to love that pain._) in his eyes, stroke her hair. Say that he _needed her_, that she was _his one and only_.

They would be in madness forever, together. Why couldn't she have that?

(_Because you don't deserve it._)


	10. Moaning Myrtle: The Lonely Ghost

_**Written for the 'Dark Side Competition' by Empress Empoleon. Using the category 'Marvolo Gaunt's Ring' (write about death.) This one came to mind scarily fast. Dunno, Myrtle always seems sort of moody about her whole death-and she was 14 when she died. She was probably NOT in the best of moods, with everyone always teasing her. I know I sort of took death the...wrong way...but this is where my mind was going.**_

_***edited for mistakes pointed out by a reviewer. **_

….

"_What are you doing here? This is the girl's toilets-you are not allowed to come in here." she said, glaring through her fogged up glasses at the dim figure of a man. He was looking directly at her-no doubt leering-and she got the odd sense that he was looking _for _her. No one ever really came looking for her._

"_Go on," she said again, shooing him. "Get out. Or ought I call Professor Dippet on you?" The man smiled at Myrtle as she tugged her glasses off, cleaning them with the edge of her shirt. She placed them back on her nose, and saw that the man was some older, Slytherin boy who she didn't recognise._

"_I'm getting the Headmaster-" Just then, Myrtle made eye contact with a particularly large snake-around the size of an average eleven year old. She gasped, looking directly into its large yellow eyes, and felt a strange tingling throughout her body. Myrtle shivered, trying to avert her gaze from the snake's, but she found that she could not move at all. She was stuck and her legs were beginning to hurt._

_In fact, just about every part of Myrtle was starting to hurt. And her head was spinning. She gasped for air, her last breath, and then collapsed, wondering if perhaps it was always natural for snakes to just pop into the girl's toilets like this one. Her very last thought-poor Myrtle-was that she was sincerely glad that she was rather ugly. She wouldn't want to be raped in the bathroom by some strange Slytherin boy._

_Unfortunately for Myrtle, she did not stay awake long. She woke up to her head spinning and her glasses fogged up. She could hear water dripping, like a leaky faucet, and spun around, trying to identify the noise._

_That was when she saw, well, _herself_. Myrtle's body was lying on the ground, limp and quickly cooling. This didn't make sense-Myrtle wasn't dead, she was right here! She wandered over the bathroom mirror and screamed, realising that her usual reflection had disappeared! She blinked a couple times, watching herself slowly melt back into visibility. Except it wasn't quite the same; she was see-through and ghostly. Ghostly...oh, Merlin, she was dead! Stuck eternally as a fourteen year old!_

_Myrtle looked back towards her body, thinking for a moment, then smiled. If Olive Hornby ever came by-boy, would she get the scare of a life time!_

….

Myrtle did _not _like that boy from the bathroom, whoever he had been. Or Olive Hornby. Or snakes. She did not like anything, much, but these three things were especially awful. These three things were the ultimate cause of her death (at least, that was how Myrtle saw it) and they all deserved to burn in hell. Really,she muttered to herself, sulking, how pathetic was it to die crying on the toilet? Of course, Myrtle thought to herself sulkily, that had pretty much been her entire life's summary: pathetic.

It was really all Olive's fault. If she wasn't such a _bully_, Olive wouldn't have made fun of Myrtle's glasses. If Olive hadn't made fun of Myrtle (who was _really _a very sensitive girl) then the Third Year wouldn't have run into the bathroom, where that _stupid_boy who simply did not belong. Him and his stupid, _stupid _snake. Where did he even _get _a snake that big?

And _in the girl's toilets_, too? Was he sick in the head or something? Had no one taught him the meaning of 'girl's toilets' versus 'boy's toilets'? Or did he just get off on watching little girls cry their eyes out? Myrtle didn't even really _know _the boy that well-he was a Sixth Year and in Slytherin, she knew that from his robes, but she had no idea what his name even was. She was just a lowly Muggleborn, Third Year Ravenclaw, a lonely and unpopular one, too, who didn't know anyone. Was that why he had picked her? Because she was so invisible anyway, no one would even notice she was gone?

Well, _screw him. _He was probably crazy anyway, that weird boy in the bathroom. Wandering around with snakes as big as children and hissing at it, like he expected it to talk back. Of course people were going to give him funny looks if he did that. Talking to snakes-who _did _that, other than weirdos?

At least dumb, old Olive Hornby had gotten what was coming for her, always making fun of Myrtle. Mocking her and teasing her. Myrtle had gotten back at her, in death, in such ways that she never could have done as a living, breathing fourteen year old. It was always such fun to remember the times she terrified Olive Hornby by popping up while she was sleeping or follow her around making noises. At least, it had been fun until stupid Olive Hornby got the Ministry involved and she got kicked straight back to Hogwarts.

An entire eternity, spent watching other kids grow older and graduate, while she was stuck haunting toilets and making the hallways flood. Myrtle couldn't get past the doors-she had tried, certainly, but something seemed to make them stick. They held fast whenever Myrtle tried to sneak out. And, every time she tried climbing out a window, some strong force pushed her back inside. It was annoying, really. All she wanted to do was play outside, like normal.

Even the living were beginning to forget about poor Myrtle. Did anyone eve know her last name? What she liked to do? As Myrtle sunk to the ground in pity, the toilets and sinks around her churned, leaking heavily.

….

"Professor, Moaning Myrtle's flooded the girl's lavatory again." a Fifth Year complained, making Minerva sigh. This was the third time this months already. What was up with Myrtle now?

….

_**I really Do hate turning anyone's situation into a laughing matter, but Myrtle was always so over-dramatic in the movies...I couldn't resist. But, in all honesty...I dunno. I hope you enjoyed it, at least. I certainly had fun writing it.**_


	11. Ariana Dumbledore: Trapped In Her Mind

_**Written for the 'Dark Side Competition'-not even going to say who by, since that should be obvious by now. Just joking-I simply just enter in too many competitions and challenges. Anyway, this is for the category 'Voldemort' (write a horror or a tragedy). This is going to be my (attempt) at a tragedy, and I feel the story of Ariana is fairly tragic. (whistles innocently) This is absolutely not a shameless attempt to show my unfair love of Ariana Dumbledore . Nope, not at all. (sneaks away) **_

….

_My name is Ariana Dumbledore and I am fourteen years old. The last time I was let out of my house was nearly five years ago. I want to go outside. I just want to go outside. Why can't I be outside like everyone else? Why am I different?_

….

_Did not mean to. Did not mean to. Please, Mummy, I didn't mean to. _

Stuck in her own head-she was stuck in her own damn head. Albus had to fall asleep every night listening to Ari cry and whimper and beg. He was never really sure who she was talking _to_-the voices changed nightly-but he hated sharing a bedroom right next to her's, especially now that Mum was gone. Now that he was in charge of everything and everyone, because Dad was in Azkaban and Mum was dead and Ariana was-

"_Please!_"

"Keep it down," he grumbled, wondering if it made him a completely awful brother if he sometimes wished that Ariana would just go away. That there was some long-lost relative that they didn't know about until now who could take care of Ariana: feed her and dress her and keep her in line. He was a young man, he wanted to explore the world, not take care of his mad sister.

Aberforth was the one who knew how to control Ari. How to soothe her by singing songs and stroking her hair. But he was only fifteen, he had to remain in school. Albus resented his brother for being allowed to leave every September, far from Ariana. At least it was summer now, and he was around to feed her and bathe her and calm her when she had fits. Things that Albus could not-and did not want to-do. He was eighteen, _dammit. _He just wanted to live his life like a normal person.

_Mummy, Mummy. Please, please, Mummy. Mummy-wake up. Wake up! She will not wake up, not waking up. Did not meant to, Mummy. Promise, promise. Please, Mummy. Please, please. Wake up._

_She did not want this, Mummy didn't want this. Please, be better-I'll be better, now open your eyes, Mummy. Open your eyes. Eyes not opening, mouth dry. Need help, need help. So hot-so, so hot. Where was Albus, where was Albus? Need help. Mummy won't wake up. _

"_Albus!_"she screeched, her legs flailing and her upper body twisting in weird directions as she tried to make sense of what was going on around her. "_Albus, Albus!_" He could hear her from the other room, shrieking uncontrollably. She wasn't even speaking words, just animalistic sounds that could have meant anything. All Albus knew was that she was screaming and it was his job as the oldest to soothe her. He sighed, getting up from bed.

"What's the matter? Ari, can you hear me? Ari, what's wrong?" he asked, coming into her room. She was on the bed, her sheets a mess, wrapped around her and all over the floor as she rocked and kicked and shook with spasms that left Ariana breathless. He moved closer and she shrieked again.

"_Help me, help me! I hurt, Albus-help me!_"

"Ariana, you're going to have to use your words." he said calmly, trying to be the good brother. The responsible brother, the eldest. He could hear rustling from Aberforth's room and silently thanks whatever invisible spirit necessary that his brother was not a heavy sleeper.

"_Albus, I'm in pain. Head hurts, hurt, hurts. Hurts. Head...hurts._" She screamed in frustration, kicking at Albus. Why didn't he understand her? Why wouldn't he listen to what she was saying? Her whole body hurt, especially her head, and he was just repeating over and over 'use your words, use your words'. _I am using my words! _

"Is she okay?" Aberforth asked from the doorway, where he was hovering nervously. Ariana was drenched in sweat and was screaming at the top of her lungs. Albus shot him a 'what do you think?' sort of look before turning back to Ari. "What's she yelling about?"

_Bad dreams, bad dreams. Bad dreams. Make me sad; Mummy leaving, Mummy won't wake up. Why is she not waking up? Do something-do something! Fix it, Aberforth! Fix it, Albus. Make everything right. Bring Mummy back. Wake her up. _

"I just don't understand," Albus said, pulling Ariana up into his lap. He was hugging her and begging her to use her words, but she could only cry and screech inhumanly. Aberforth sat down next to him, petting her hair like one would a small child and murmuring to her.

"_Help me!_"

"Why won't she speak correctly? Why can't she be normal?" Albus yelled, red in the face with frustration. "Dammit!"

"Don't shake her, Albus. That's not going to help." Aberforth said, chastising him. Albus blinked, relaxing his grip on Ari. He hadn't even been aware he was shaking her, his mind blank with rage. Why couldn't Ariana just fix herself? Why did the damn stupid Muggles have to ruin a perfectly sweet little girl?

"Let me hold her," Aberforth said, pulling the still howling fourteen year old closer to him. Albus closed his eyes, willing her to calm down. Willing everything to back to the way it was eight years ago, when Ariana was normal. When the world was normal.

"_Won't wake up, she won't wake up. Make Mummy wake up, please. Mummy. Mummy._"

"Ariana, it's okay, it's okay." Aberforth said soothingly. He was much better at handling her than Albus, possibly because he wasn't as interested in being in control like Albus and his friend, or maybe because he was only a year older than her. Whatever the reason, Aberforth found he had a great deal more patience with Ariana than Albus ever could.

He just wished it wasn't so necessary.

_My name is Ariana Dumbledore and I am so, so tired._


	12. Narcissa Black: The Cost of Love

_**Written for the (you guessed it) 'Dark Side Competition' by Empress Empoleon. This one is for the 'Nagini' category (write about something dangerous). Dangerous=Narcissa. I dunno. My mind goes strange places, it does. It doesn't start off sounding much dangerous, but I think this is a pretty...interesting definition of dangerous. Hints of abuse (physical & sexual) **_

….

"_Danger comes in many forms-marriage is the worst kind."-Tenneth Blyde. _

…_._

Narcissa Black spent many, _many_ mornings waking up to a single question: _What is the most dangerous thing I can do today? _Often times, it was only ridiculous things, like hide Momma's shoes, or charm Bellatrix's hair pink. But today, of all days, Cissy had come up with the absolutely most dangerous thing she could ever do in her life. Today, she would marry Lucius Malfoy.

It was not that Narcissa Black did not like Lucius Malfoy. (She thought he was actually quite handsome.) It more of the fact that Lucius Malfoy was _trouble_. Real trouble, not the faery-tale kind that was fixed by the end of the book. Because Narcissa did not live in a faery-tale; she lived in the real world, where real problems existed. She had to deal with them herself, even if the only way to deal with them was to face a smile and use clever make-up to hide the bruises. Cissy ought to know what kind of trouble Malfoy was-she had been his arranged girlfriend, then fiancee, since she was nine years old. She knew what he was like when he got angry.

It was a very, _very _old argument: _Was this all worth it? _And the answer was-had been for longer than she cared to remember-_Absolutely not. _It was never worth it-never. But she was engaged to a man, and at least he wasn't a stranger. At least he had been in school with her, in the same hous even. She was lucky that Momma and Daddy didn't have her engaged to a forty-something second cousin who drooled and looked like a troll.

But was it worth it? No. Never, never, never. She hated him for the way he always smiled, when he punched her. She had watched him, even when he had his eyes closed, when he was ripping off all her clothing, dropping them to the floor like discarded rags. Like _she _was just as easily gotten rid of, tossed away when he was done with her. He was always smiling, _smirking_, practically. Like this all caused him some sort of pleasure. _It probably did. _But she was engaged to him; she knew no other life than the one that involved broom closets and his four poster or his bed at home. She knew of no other man that would possibly take her besides Lucius. Last resorts and all, but it was the truth.

She wasn't brave like Andy, who had escaped from an awful, arranged Pureblood marriage to that absolute _lunatic_, Rabastan Lestrange. Andromeda had the sense and the passion and the power to escape from their parent's overbearing ways. But Narcissa wasn't like that. She was Momma and Daddy's little angel, their precious little girl who could do no wrong. She was innocence on a platter, pure. At least, Momma and Daddy thought so. They didn't know what Lucius liked to do to her at night, when he was drunk or lonely or just _bored_. Their marriage needed no consummation-they had done that ages ago, in the dark, when she was just eleven years old and very naïve.

It didn't even matter, though. They wouldn't have made any sort of movement to stop him-it was so common amongst Pureblooded marriages that most families didn't really question it if the wife showed up to parties a little banged and bruised. As long as she was still healthy enough to produce heirs, no one gave a damn.

And, really, Narcissa shouldn't care either. It wasn't like she had anywhere else to go, anyone else to turn to. Momma didn't care, Bella was too busy with her obsessions about the Dark Lord. Andy was _completely _off-limits. Her so-called 'friends' from Hogwarts were all a part of the same social group-all married to or being married off to some Pureblood. They were either in the same situation as her, or were hyped up on so many drugs they didn't care-or their husbands were weak and they just couldn't relate.

She had begged him to stop in the beginning, when she first realised that a young boy and girl simply just weren't meant to be doing this to each other, told him what he was doing was wrong. Lucius had only laughed and told her if she really meant that, she'd _beg _him to let her go.

"You see, little Cissy, _I _am your husband. And yet, I am so much more than that. I am your Lord and Master-I _own _you. Your parents have given you to me, for a price. You are nothing more than a pretty cow that my parents have bought for me, and I fully intend on using you any way I want."

"I'll tell. I'll tell someone."

"Who? Mummy? Daddy? _They're _the ones that handed you off, remember? They don't care-no one does. You will always do what is say, because there is no escape."

She hated him, but he was too big, too strong. Too rich and powerful and smart for her. He was so very dangerous, and she hated danger. Yet, Cissy was stuck waking up every morning, wondering what the most dangerous thing in the world was that she could do. And the answer was changing. The most dangerous thing she could do is _walk away from Lucius. _Except she could never do that, because as much as she hated him-_she loved him_. Loved him and was willing to stand by her side, even though it was ridiculous what he did. She didn't want, couldn't leave Lucius. Not ever.

And she would never be able to do that. Never. Some dangers were just too big to pass. This just was one of them. She had to deal with it until the day she died. She had to be his wife and love him. (She really _did _love him. She would stay by him as long as he needed her.)

She would marry him today.

(Unless, of course, he died first.)

….

"Do you take this man, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, as your husband?"

"I do."


	13. Hermione Granger: Funerals

_**Been avoiding Hermione. But I have to post every day, so here she is. (I love Hermione, really I do. It's just...I can't really seem to ever do the Trio justice. Except Ron, I feel pretty good about my Ron. But the other two...just...it never works out how I want.)**_

….

It had not been one of her better days.

She wanted to, honestly, just leave it at that and be done. _It had not been one of her better days_. She wasn't happy-she didn't really _want _to be. Crying would have made her feel better, yet she could not seem to be able to. Everything about her was numb; the world around her seemed to be passing by in a blur of noise and colours, yet she remained frozen.

_It had not been one of her better days. _Was there an easy way of explaining to your children that their Gram was gone? That there would be no more trips to Australia in the summer or time spent in the garden with her. Hermione wasn't sure how to explain that to her children, who had been so close to their grandmother. She didn't _want _to deal with having to tell them.

Daddy couldn't do it, Daddy struggled to remember who he even was some days. It was hard enough having to explain _once _to her children, but it nearly killed Hermione every time she had to explain to Daddy that Mom was just _gone_. Dead was the proper way to explain it-but she didn't _want _to explain it properly, she wanted him to understand. Wanted him to be able to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay, even though she knew it _obviously _wasn't.

Instead she was meant to be planning a funeral for her mother and she was trying to do it without crying. She was trying to go through all the notes that Mom had left about what she wanted to be buried in or what kind of music she wanted to be played at the funeral,("_Absolutely _no _'Amazing Grace'. I love the song, but everyone does that, Hermione. I don't want to be everyone._") and so much other things that she had never wanted to take care of.

Rosie was only just _now _almost seven. She didn't seem to quite grasp that Gram wasn't sleeping in the same way that Rosie did. This kind of sleep Gram would never wake up. Hugo, who was nearly five, didn't seem to hear a word at all when his mom and dad explained everything. He was more concerned about toy cars and the trees outside that needed climbing.

("_Don't ever cry, Hermione. I know it's a funeral-my funeral-but I don't want to have to leave, knowing you'll be crying. I love you, sweetheart. My departure is only temporary, you know that. So, no crying, okay?_")

That was the worst part, the long wait, knowing that, eventually, Mum would just not be able to go on anymore. That she would one day just have to give up, even if she didn't want to. Mum was sixty-six, she could have lived for years and years! And, yet, cancer had caught up with her.

("_I don't know why you're all so flustered. It's cancer. Cancer's cancer, sweet. If I die tomorrow, then that was my time. If I live for another thirty years and watch my own daughter's hair turn grey and see my grandchildren marry-then, fine. Living another thirty years would be _nice, _but unlikely. You need to accept that fact._")

They had known. They had known several months before she even passed that Mum wasn't going to make it-not to the end of the year, not long enough to see Hermione's hair turn grey or see her grandchildren marry. Not even long enough to turn sixty-seven. There was hardly anything left to plan, anymore. Mum had planned it all out ages ago-the only thing left was picking the flowers. Mum had loved flowers, flowers of all types, and never really left a definite instruction as to what type of flowers she wanted at the funeral, or on her casket.

As the only daughter, it was Hermione's job, because Daddy couldn't figure out how to do the simplest of tasks himself anymore. And she had to pick out the flowers for her own mother's _damn funeral_! She didn't want to pick out flowers or dress up or go to church, where Hugo would fuss and Rosie would ask questions. She wanted to be eleven again, with her mum to take care of her all day long. She didn't want to be responsible and in charge of absolutely _nothing_, especially her own mother's _funeral! _Why had she left this all to her? Why was she...why was she...

….

"Hermione?" Ron called, opening the front door. He couldn't hear any noise, no sounds of Hermione writing out her notes for a lecture, nor the sound of the kids playing. The house was silent, and that

made Ron very nervous. He didn't like silence-wasn't used to silence. Silence meant death and tiny little coffins that he didn't want to see.

Properly panicked now, Ron dropped his shoulder bag full of ideas for new sweets to sell at the shop and ran into the living room, yelling "Hermione! Hermione, where are you? Please, please! Hermione?" He didn't want to see bodies, he didn't want to see bodies. Oh, Merlin, please no bodies.

"Daddy?" said a little voice, and Ron whirled around. It was Rose, looking far older than seven, sitting calmly on the couch. She was eating a sandwich and fiddling with a colourful toy cube.

"Rosie?" he asked, grasping her by the shoulders. They were alive, they were alive! "Rosie, where's Mummy?"

"Mummy's sick."

"Sick?" he frowned. She hadn't seemed ill when he left this morning. She had seemed frazzled, a little stressed, but that was to be understood. Her mother had died on Saturday. That was understandable.

"That's what Mummy said. She said she's sick and that's why she won't stop crying. She says she sick, very sick. She said it's called 'sadness'. Daddy, why does Mummy have sadness?"

….

_**Originally meant to be a lot lighter in subject and a lot happier. This is...not really light in subject, nor is it all too happy. I...I was in a bad place this week. Things happened and I...I've been better. **_

_**Reviews are really nice hugs. I need a hug. **_


	14. Katie Bell: It Wasn't Fair

_**This is Katie Bell...a lot easier to write than Hermione. Dunno...for whatever reason minor-ish characters like Katie and super minor characters like Sue Li are really easy to write, while these 'bigger' characters just...I struggle with them. **_

….

She had always thought Fred was the cute one out of the Weasley twins, the one who was easier to love, even though her friends told her she was just in love with both twins, because they were pretty much the same person. Everyone-even the twins themselves-seemed to be under the impression that they they operated with the same brain, the same characteristics, the same interests. But Katie could see a difference between George and Fred, one that she had to look not so very deep for.

Fred was a leader, an instigator. Sure, George was just as mischievous and clever as Fred, but it was usually the elder of the two that came up with the actual schemes and plots. They distributed the work and the reward evenly, but it was Fred who more often than not started the riling up. Katie had always had a thing for guys who instigated. For guys who started riots.

Besides that, Fred did not seem as hesitant as George. He was reckless, sometimes painfully so, and rarely planned ahead. Fred came up with the ideas, but it was George who wrote out the details, the routes to take, who to avoid, when to do what. Fred just wanted to jump in, throw something, and see what exploded. George and Katie had always tried to explain to him countless times that his rushing would always be the end of him, but he never listened, too caught up in the moment.

The last main thing that separated George and Fred was that Fred was _awful _at giving directions. Fred could read a map fine, and he knew exactly where every little scratch in the wall was-it was just a matter of being able to tell people where to go. He had managed to get Katie lost plenty of times by giving her false, and often ridiculous, instructions on navigating through the castle. It wasn't on purpose, (at least, she _hoped _it wasn't on purpose) he just seemed to struggle _explaining _where to go. George didn't really appear to have that problem at all.

But Katie, and only Katie, seemed to be able to see these difference between the otherwise identical twin boys. And it was these differences-these minor, almost unimportant differences-that made her love Fred just a bit sweeter, the one who she fell in love with first. Her first-and last-crush.

….

He was only a year older than her, the protective older brother she had never had. Fred and George, the mischievous pranksters of Gryffindor, and she had a crush on one-half of the pair. It had started in her Fourth Year, when Fred had mentioned testing potential products on other students, and Katie had agreed nearly instantly, despite knowing that most of the 'potential products' were probably dangerous. She had wanted to impress him, wanted Fred to know that _she _was just as much a Gryffindor as any boy, doubly so, maybe.

She had fallen in love with him, she thought, by Christmas, and even begged her mother to be allowed to stay at school. She wanted to be closer to him, without all the other students, so she could ask him out. But her mum had guilt-tripped Katie into coming back home, and she went the entire break without being able to say a word to Fred in person. She sent him a lovely gift (new Beater's gloves) and a card, but it wasn't nearly the same as sitting and watching what he was doing, curious about the twins newest scheme against Filch.

….

In her Fifth Year, she wanted him so desperately to ask her out the Yule Ball, and she nearly panicked as the date came closer and closer.

The ball was supposed to be terribly romantic, with plenty of people hooking up, and the idea of a date with Fred (Fred! Fred Weasley!) excited her all the same. She and Angelina had been sitting in study hall, discussing possible dress choices instead of working, when one of the twins had tossed a piece of paper at Angelina, asking her to come with him to the ball.

"Uh, sure. Yeah," she said, turning and grinning enthusiastically at Katie. "Oh Merlin! Did you just _see that_? Did you just _see _that? I have a date! An actual, real date!"

"Yeah," said Katie, her heart falling. It had been Fred, _Fred_, who had tossed the paper at Angelina. Fred who had asked _Angelina _to the ball. It would be Katie who would stand on the sidelines, alone.

Later, George caught up to her and asked her out. She told him 'of course I will', and 'I'd love to go with you' and a whole bunch of other things she didn't quite mean, because this was _George _and she wanted _Fred_.

….

He was stupid! A stupid, stupid, _stupid _idiot! And she was all alone. No more Fred. No more...them. _FredandKatie. KatieandFred. _For the first time, Fred was not with George all the time, he was with _her_. They had seven months together. Seven months, and it wasn't nearly long enough to show him just how much she loved him.

(_Fred is dead_.)

(_We were going to get married._)

(_I loved him. Love him._)

(_Fred is dead._)

Damn him! Damn him to hell! Why did he have to leave her, just when she thought things were working out? Why did he have to go rashly into that bloody battle, not thinking about how she would feel? That was the problem, though; Fred was rash. He was so rash, so very rash. And now he was dead. Twenty years old, and she would never be able to say those very important words to him:

"_I love you, Fred Weasley. I've always loved you._"

….

_**Sad face for Katie. Poor Katie. Why am I so...ugh, my personal life is leaking into my writing. Despondent are ye, who can not get over the end of life. The end draweth ever near for thee. Sorry, that was uncalled for. **_


	15. Susan Bones: Anthony's Fault

_**Susan Bones. Susan Bones. Ah, Susan, my sweet little Hufflepuff. What is there left unsaid about you? You're too innocent to get into any trouble, right? Right?**_

….

"Aunt Amelia, what about this one?" Susan asked, poking her head from between the curtains of the changing room. Her aunt was sitting boredly on the bench outside, waiting for her sixteen year old niece to finish picking out an outfit. Susan knew her aunt didn't really want to be here-she wasn't much into fashion as much as she focused more on the intimidating world of Aurors, a place nearly overrun by men or women who _acted _like men. Women like Aunt Amelia. But she had promised Susan one day, _just _one day, for them to do whatever she liked. Susan had picked shopping at the Muggle clothing store near there house. She needed a new blouse or two, and new jeans for weekends at school. Aunt Amelia had called the shopping expenditure a "complete waste of a perfectly good free weekend.".

"You look pretty, sweetheart." said Aunt Amelia, barely even looking at her niece's too low-cut shirt. Susan giggled, knowing that her aunt wasn't paying attention. This was perfect. She could buy whatever she wanted with Aunt Amelia, because, unlike shopping with her mother, Aunt Amelia never noticed what Susan was buying.

"What about this shirt?" she asked, holding up another shirt, which was nearly the same thing, just green.

"It's fine," Aunt Amelia said. Susan nodded, turning to head back into the dressing stall, when Aunt Amelia suddenly popped up, her eyes wide. "Susan?"

"Yes, Aunt Amelia?"

"You were sick this morning, weren't you? When I stopped by to pick you up from your mum's? You were in the bathroom-were you sick?"

"Yes, but it's just the f-"

"Have you been sick a lot, recently?"

"Yes, but-"

"Always in the morning, is it?" Susan sighed. Why did Aunt Amelia have to turn everything into twenty questions? They were just here to look for _clothes_, not talk about possible summer flus.

"Yes, Aunt Amelia, always in the morning. Why?"

"That boyfriend of yours, Adam or-"

"Anthony Goldstein?"

"Yes. Anthony Goldstein. Are you two..._intimate_?"

"Aunt Amelia!"

"It's just a question, dear."

"Maybe...why? You don't think..._no!_"

….

Susan jiggled her knee nervously, glancing around every few seconds for Anthony. She had sent him a letter to meet at her favorite cafe today, and-as usual-he was late. Anthony wasn't regularly late for class or anything else; just when Susan wanted to talk to him. Susan's best friend, Hannah, had told her that his total lack of respect for meeting at pre-adjourned times was Anthony's of saying he wasn't really interested. Susan wasn't particularly fascinated by Hannah's theories about guys, though, and had told her she was happy where she was.

"Sorry I'm late, Su," Anthony said, coming to the table. He pulled out the chair across from her and sighed, giving her a happy smile. "It's nice seeing you, again. I thought we'd have to go the entire summer without seeing each other."

"Mhmm." Susan mumbled, not looking at him. She took a sip of her tea, wondering how best to explain things. Aunt Amelia had told her to take things slowly, make sure he was calm and happy. That's why she had bought him his favorite food, cheesecake. If Anthony was calm, this would all go fine. It had to go fine, right?

"Why'd you ask me to pop over, then, Su? Because I know you're not one for just casual conversation," She could hear the hidden barb in his comment. They never did really just _talk_. (But she didn't want him for talking, did she?) Anthony did a bite of cheesecake and smiled down at her. "Why am I here?"

"I wasn't aware I was such a big waste of time, Anthony. I apologise. Maybe I ought to just be making this decision on my own," she said huffily, wanting to cross her arms and stick her tongue out like a toddler would. But she had to be more mature than that, or Anthony wouldn't take her seriously.

"I never said that, Su...what decision are you talking about?"

"I'm pregnant." Susan said quickly, shutting her eyes, but opening them again; she needed to see how he was reacting. She just wanted this all to be over. She wanted this to all just be a joke, something they could laugh about and say it was just a prank. She didn't want to be pregnant at sixteen. She didn't want to be _pregnant. _

"Wha-a?" Anthony spluttered, his eyes wide. She shook her head, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. "Is this a joke? I mean...we've only done this..once or twice."

"Four times," she replied immediately. "We've done this exactly _four _times, and one of them clearly ended up with me _pregnant!_" Dammit, she was crying now. Crying in front of Anthony, the one thing she _didn't _want to do. "It's not a joke, Anthony. This is very, _very _real. And _I _already know what _I _want to do...but as the father-"

"Who says I'm the father?" he demanded.

"Really, now, Anthony, I'm not _cheating _on you, you prat. But, as the definite father of this baby, I wanted to ask you something."

"I'm not taking care of it!"

"That's not what I'm asking! Dammit, Anthony, _listen _to me! I don't want this baby, _you _don't want this baby. My mum says she can get me to a friend who specialises in..._getting _rid of problems like this."

"Aborti-"

"Shh! Yes, yes, _that_." She wrinkled her nose distastefully. She didn't want this baby, but she also didn't like the idea of just..._killing _it. "And, what I'm saying is, well, I've only got a limited time window to be able to do this, and I just want your agreement before I go ahead and..."

"I'll sign anything that means I'm not going to be some sort of dad!" Anthony said, a little too enthusiastically for Susan's taste. She wondered what she had ever really seen in Anthony before this. Why she had ever even _let _him touch her. Obviously, he was nothing but a prat.

"Alright," she said, pulling the papers from her purse, feeling like she was signing a paper with the Dark Lord himself. Everyone said it wasn't _killing _the baby, because technically, the baby wasn't a real baby yet, but...she had her moments of queasy guilt.

What if she was taking another person's life?


	16. Gabrielle Delacour: Stranger in the Pool

_**Correct me if I mess up on any of the French. I don't actually TAKE French, so I'm sort of bad at it. But, this is my best attempt at it. Wish me luck. (**__**Souhaitez moi bonne chance)**_

….

"'ow do I know that thiz will work like 'oo say? What will I do if she get..._stuck _or worse, _die_?" Madame Delacour, Gabrielle's maman, said to Monsieur Dumbledore, holding her daughter's hand tightly. Gabrielle stood shyly behind her, having spent the entire time just listening to the adults talk and stress. She was very good at dissolving into the background when she wanted to. Gabrielle could go unnoticed by most, especially next to her pretty mother and sister.

Madame Delacour was still talking."What will I do if my daughter is 'urt? I do not want that."

"I can assure you, ma'am, nothing will hurt your daughter. She will be safe; either your daughter, Fleur, will rescue her, which I am sure is the most likely option, or we will get her ourselves. There is absolutely _no _chance that anything shall happen to Gabrielle. I give you my word, madam."

"But the merpeople-"

"They are friendly, ma'am. They will not harm a child such as her. Believe me." He was so calm, so sure of the entire situation. Gabrielle let go of her maman's hand, going up to the very old man with the very long beard. She looked him straight in his bright blue eyes, which mirrored her own. She stood as tall as she could and spoke.

"_Je ne veux pas me noyer aujourd'hui, Monsieur Dumbledore._"(_I do not wish to drown, Mister Dumbledore._) She spoke very confidently, trying to be like her older sister, Fleur, who was so confident and brave and sure of herself. Fleur, who would have to rescue her from deep, cold water that very morning. She had to be brave like her sister. "_Ne vous promets que je reviendrai sans danger? Pouvez-vous promettre une telle chose_"(_Do you promise that I will return safe? Can you promise such a thing?_) she asked the old man calmly, standing as tall as an eight year old can. Her blonde hair was not in its usual braid, as Monsieur Dumbledore had requested that she take it out, for it would only get pulled apart by the water. She felt uncomfortable and _very _childish, not at all the strong, confident person she was trying to portray. But Monsieur Dumbledore seemed kind and understanding.

The water..._that _was what scared Gabrielle the most. She was a decent enough swimmer, but only in the shallow ends. She wouldn't be able to help herself, wouldn't be able to swim to safety. Her only hope was that this man could be trusted, that his word would mean her life in capable hands.

He smiled down at her, a reassuring smile that would have relaxed just about anyone.

"_Bien sûr, je le promets, Gabrielle. Je ne faites pas de promesses que je ne peux pas tenir. Vous reviendrez._"(_Of course I promise, Gabrielle. I do not make promises I cannot keep. You will return._) he told her, and she patted his cheek, nodding.

"_Je vous embrasse sur la joue ce seulement quand je suis de retour, Monsieur Dumbledore._"(_I will kiss you on this cheek, only when I am back, Mister Dumbledore._) she said, pointing to the spot where she had touched his cheek. He nodded, and she stepped away, back towards Maman.

"We will just give her a simple sleeping draught. It's all very safe, time-lapsed to wear off as soon as she hits the surface. She'll never have to wake up and see the water, no panicking. The merpeople and I have been working for several weeks now on a protective bubble for them, full of air. She will be completely safe."  
"My daughter's life in your hands, Monsieur." Maman said, shifting Gabrielle closer to him. Gabrielle gave her mother one last look (_Is this safe, Maman? Can we trust this man? My life in his hands?_) before looking back to Monsieur Dumbledore. He smiled calmly and handed her a clear glass bottle full of a strange blue liquid.

"If Gabrielle is ready..." She nodded, moving closer to Monsieur Dumbledore.

"_Buvez ceci, s'il vous plaît._" (_Drink this, please._) He told her, and she took the bottle, sipping it. It made her insides feel numb, like she was falling into a bed full of soft pillows; a bed without any lumps, just waiting for her to fall asleep. The room was beginning to fade from her sight and all she wanted to do was sleep.

She fell to the floor, her eyes closed, her breathing slowed peacefully.

….

When she woke up next, her head was bobbing just above the surface of a very dark lake. She spluttered and gasped, looking around for Fleur, but did not see her. She could find only a boy with dark hair and green eyes. There was another boy with bright red hair, but she could not see her sister.

"_Où est ma soeur ? Je veux ma soeur! Je veux ma soeur!_" (_Where is my sister? I want my sister! I want my sister!)_She said loudly, splashing at the water, and looking around desperately.

"What's she saying, Harry?" said the red head. Harry, the one with dark hair, shrugged and grabbed Gabrielle's hand, indicating for her to swim after him.

"_Où sont je ? Je veux voir ma soeur. Je veux ma mère en arrière. Aidez-moi s'il vous plaît. Je ne peux pas nager._" (_Where am I? I want to see my sister. I want my mother back. Help me please. I cannot swim._) The boys shook their head and made hand gestures, as if saying "I don't speak French". Harry kept pulling her along, encouraging her when her head bobbed under the water.

She just wanted her sister back. She just wanted to be safe and dry with her sister. Where was her sister? Where was Fleur?

….

_**I wasn't really sure if I should add in the English translations, or just let you struggle to translate them, but I decided to be nice and just give them to you. It's not the longest, but I do love my Gabrielle. She's my favorite non-Hogwarts student. **_


	17. Alecto Carrow: The World Burns

_**Might be a little violent for some people. I don't approve of any of the sort of violence mentioned below. If you or anyone you know (male or female) are in a relationship like this, get out. Get out now. Tell someone, please. Don't let anyone else hurt you. **_

….

"_Some men just want to watch the world burn." Alfred (The Dark Knight Rises, 2008)_

….

No one ever said that she was normal. No one ever said she _had _to be. The feeling of shivering flesh as she held a whip in her hand; the sounds of her victims screaming in pain as she waited for them to beg. They always begged, always. She liked that part, when they begged her to just make it _stop_, to just leave them alone. She never did, never stopped until she wanted to because _she _was in charge. _She _was in control of who lived and who didn't. She loved the feeling of control.

She was never in control as a young girl. With an older brother and a Pureblood father, how was she expected to be in control? When it was perfectly normal for a father to raise his hand against his daughter, a husband against his wife, a brother against his sister? She survived, but only by submitting to any pain they put her through. But Alecto had to maintain her pride; she never begged, no matter how much pain she was in. She never begged. Not once.

Alecto despised Narcissa Malfoy, who was delicate, who suffered. Her own husband punished her viciously, but had Narcissa ever felt the pain of her own _father_, his hands around her neck. (His body on top of hers, flesh against flesh.) She hated the way Narcissa would often ask for people to open their doors to her, to let her spend the night. Alecto, being _begged _by a woman five years her senior. How could she resist? It was almost delicious, being able to either save this woman's life or turn her away, all by her own choice.

"Why do you let him do this?" she asked Narcissa once, over a cup of tea. Narcissa had arrived with a black eye and bruises up and down her arms. Cissy, coming to her with pleading eyes and desperate. "Why do you let him hurt you, when you can stop him? You're his wife, you oughtn't let him treat you this way."

Cissy smiled condescendingly, tipping her head at Alecto. "You've never been married, have you, Alecto? Never been with a man before?"

(_"If you want me to stop, you'll need to ask me, Ala. You'll need to prove to me that you don't want me. You won't? You won't beg? You must like it, Ala. You must _like _it. You naughty girl."_)

"No, not me. Not interested in men, not yet. Just serving the Dark Lord and fulfilling his wishes of getting rid of the scum. Only doing my duty, as I've been told. As your _son _does his duty, so do I and my brother do ours. You understand, right?"

"Of course," Narcissa said thoughtfully, tugging at a strand of hair. "You've never been with a man before, though? I thought so-you don't seem to really _understand _men the way I do. They're vile creatures, Alecto, be careful of them. They only take when they want and they never give. All men ever want is _sex _and they're very careful about it, too. If they want you, they'll seduce you until you love them, and then they'll take you, because you've got nowhere else to turn. _I _should know-I was engaged to Lucius Malfoy since I was nine. Don't you think he's done this before?"

"I assume so, since this is not the first time I have found you at my doorstep, Narcissa. I've seen you before, when we had meeting the first time. You were always so cold, so angry. And I always wondered, _why_? What did you have to be angry about, when your life seemed so bloody perfect? But then, you arrived at my house when I was seventeen, and my mother let you in, like it was nothing. Like she was expecting to see someone like you on our doorstep."

"It's common, Alecto. You'll see-when you're married, you'll get used to it. The bandaging and making potions to help with the bruising. You'll be able to fake smiles in public, or if all else fails, appear like you just don't _give _a damn. It takes time, but you'll get used to it."

"Why do I have to?"

"Because he will own you. He will own every bit of you, and there is nothing you can do to stop him. You'll try-trust me, I did. I told people, begged them for help, but it will just never work. I'm sorry, you'll just have to get used to it. Don't worry about it, Alecto. You're time will come, eventually. One day, you'll see."  
"I will never beg," Alecto said, frowning. That was her one rule in life. Those who beg are weak, and Alecto is not weak. Not her, not ever. "I have never begged to anyone, and I certainly am not going to start for some _man_."

Narcissa smiled again, and Alecto wanted to punch her. "You'll see, Alecto. You'll see. When the time comes, you'll beg, just like anyone else."

"No I won't. I'm stronger than _you_."

"One day, Alecto. One day."

"Fuck off, Narcissa. What do you know?"

….

"If you want me to stop, you'll need to ask me, Weasley. You'll need to prove to me that you don't _want _me to hurt you. You won't? You won't beg? Do you like it, Weasley? Do you like me whipping you, like me hurting you? You _must_, if you won't beg me to stop. Just beg, and I'll leave you alone."

"Fuck off," she was bloody and gasping, but still strong enough to hold hatred in her eyes, to be able to glare at Alecto with a passionate gaze. "_Damn _you. You're _pathetic_. Pathetic!"

"Guess what, Weasley? I don't care. Now, _beg._"


	18. Ginevra Weasley: One Day I Will Be

"_Some people just aren't fit for fantasy."-Don Dameson _

….

"He loves me, he loves me _not_. He loves me, he loves me _not_," a soft voice came from the garden of the Weasley family. Charlie Weasley, who had been home from his Sixth Year at Hogwarts, peeked around the gate towards where his little sister was sitting. Her long red hair was curled around her shoulders and she was wearing a pretty, yellow and green, summer dress that Mrs. Weasley had probably forced her into (kicking and screaming) that very morning. Charlie thought she looked pretty.

She had a daisy in her hand, gently plucking each petal, muttering to herself, "He loves me, he loves me _not_."

"What'cha doing, kiddo?" Charlie asked, dropping to the ground beside her. He could feel the dirt already taking over his pants, (Mum would have a fit when they came in later) but he didn't mind. Ginny looked up at him, startled, then relaxed, pulling another petal off.

"He loves me. Hullo, Charlie. He loves me _not. _Why're you out here? I thought you were going to the village with Fred and George. Why're you here, where it's all dirty?" She was down to only a few petals left, and was frowning down at the daisy, like it had done her some great wrong.

"I could ask you the same thing, Gin. Besides, the twins upset Mum again somehow, so we've all been banned from going to St. Ottery Catchpole-she says we're clearing not mature enough. What's with the flower? You got some little boyfriend?" he asked, teasing her. Ginny shot him a look, but he just shrugged, poking her side. "Don't tell me my eight year old sister has found love before _I _have?"

"What about Tonks? I thought you loved _her_," said Ginny. "he loves me."

"I thought so, too." said Charlie thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin. Ginny furrowed her brow, pulling off another petal. "Things got..._complicated _this year."

"Comp-li-cated?" she repeated slowly, her head turned to one side. Charlie laughed, tugging at a strand of her bright, red hair. "What's that mean? He loves me."

"Just that we realised that I liked her and she...well, she _didn't _really like me the same way back." Charlie had sent a letter (a rather embarrassing one) to his best friend, Nymphadora Tonks near the end of the year, confessing the feelings he'd been having for her since Third Year. She had kindly and awkwardly turned him down, saying the attraction simply just wasn't mutual. Charlie still hadn't quite gotten over it yet.

"Well, that's just silly," Ginny said. "If someone loves someone else, they should be loved back. That's the only way to do something. Like Mummy and me. _I _love her, she loves me back. Have you explained that to Tonks?" Ginny asked, looking up at Charlie. "Have you explained to her that you love her, so she has to love you back?"

Charlie laughed, pulling on another one of her curls again, rather gently. "It doesn't really work that way, kiddo. Tonks is allowed to decided whether she likes me back or not. I can't _force _her to like me. I'd be happier if she did-things would be a whole lot less complicated if she did-but not everything turns out the way you want it to. She, uh, turned me down."

"Did you give her flowers? Mummy likes it when Dad gives _her _flowers. You should have given her flowers. He loves me _not._"

"Maybe I should've." said Charlie, looking down at Ginny's daisy. It only had one petal left, a sad little white tear drop. He leaned over and plucked it off, mumbling to himself, "She loves me."

"Hey! That was my flower!" Ginny said, getting to her feet. "That's not fair, Charlie."  
"Sorry, Gin, I didn't mean to. Hey, you want me to give you that petal back and you can pull it off again yourself?"

"It's not the same," she said, huffing. "I'm going to find another one." She got to her feet, wandering a few feet away to the bushes, looking for another pretty daisy that Mummy wouldn't notice missing.

"Why're you even playing 'he loves me, he loves me not', Ginny? I don't think you need a flower to tell you that a boy likes you. You can just ask him, you know."

"I know, but I've never met him."

"Met who?"

"Harry Potter, of course." Ginny said, bending down to snatch another flower up, pulling the petals off one by one. "He loves me, he loves me _not_."

"Oh, Ginny, not that Harry Potter nonsense, again. You know you'll probably _never _meet him, right? You should just give it up and find a logical person to fall in love with."

"You should find a logical person to fall in love with," she retorted, hands on her hip, flower twisted between two fingers. "Since, clearly, Tonks isn't working out for you. _I_,however, will never give up. I might meet him one day. He's going to be my true love."

….

"You want to know something, Harry?" she said one night over coffee. It was Christmas at the Burrow, and she was fifteen, he sixteen. "I used to have the dumbest, craziest crush on you as a little girl. I'm sure you've already been told that by Ron, but it's all true. I used to play 'he loves me, he loves me _not_' or pretend I was marrying you or some sort of nonsense like that. It seemed so logical then, like it would work out somehow, but now it just seems silly and childish. I mean, what, really, are the odds that I'm going to ever date _you_?"

"Yeah," said Harry nervously, picking at a hole in the sweater. "That would be weird, dating you. Like dating my best friend's little sister? How strange would that be? I mean, I feel like I've known you so long that you're practically _my _little sister."

"Yeah," Ginny said, laughing. Her heart dropped suddenly and she looked down at the cup in her hands. _He loves me not._


	19. Lucy Weasley: Molly's Sister

_**I really don't write next generation much. As you'll probably be able to see from this particular story. Huh. Gonna go read about Lucy Weasley to get some ideas.**_

….

"_Molly and Lucy Weasley. I swear, you two could be twins,"_

"_You're both so well-behaved."_

"_You're lucky to have such sweet daughters, Percy." _

"_Never been in trouble? What good girls you are!"_

"_Perfect grades, perfect records. Wow. Your father must have raised you well."_

"_Now, you said Molly is the eldest? But it's practically like looking at the same girl, duplicated!"_

"_You're both so alike, physically and character-wise, I mean."_

….

Lucy Weasley did not like being the youngest. In fact, she almost would want to say that she nearly _hated _being the younger daughter. Getting hand-me-down clothes, or always being a grade behind. The way _Molly _got to experience everything first. It wasn't fair, she just wanted to do something, by herself, before Molly did.

There was not a very long list of things left for Lucy to do before her sister. Molly had already started Hogwarts, already gotten a boyfriend, already screwed around with him. She'd passed classes, graduated nearly top of her class. What was there left for Lucy to do first?

Molly was the good child. Certainly, Molly was the good child. She had a respectable boyfriend from Hufflepuff, some prat named Peter who was nice to everyone but Lucy. (Or, so Lucy felt.) Molly made good grades and she'd never once been in detention, a great and wonderful feat in Mum and Dad's eyes. She had been on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team as a Keeper, and always returned home with wonderful reports. In Mum and Dad's eyes, Molly was a golden child.

So, why couldn't Lucy be the _anti_-golden child, instead of just sticking around for a place as plain old silver? The youngest, who's greatest accomplishments are completely overshadowed by the fact that Molly did them first. Well, Molly had never gotten a detention before, now had she? And Lucy, who was only a Fifth Year, had been a good child up until now.

She didn't need to be a good child anymore, Hufflepuff or not. Daughter of Percy Weasley or not. Molly's sister or not. She was her own person, she could make her own choices, right? She didn't have to be like the rest of her well-behaved, goody two-shoes family, just to fit int, did she? No, Lucy decided. She could-and she would-be her own person as of now on. She didn't want to be continuously associated with Molly's accomplishments, or Dad's accomplishments, or Mom's accomplishments.

She would only be known as Lucy Weasley, an individual.

….

Her first detention was just three days into her Fifth Year, when she and her two cousins-Fred and James- (who were notorious troublemakers on their own) pranked the entire school by making rainbow confetti drop from the ceiling all day. It took almost a week to figure out how to turn things back, and Professor Longbottom, the Herbology teacher, had written a note home personally to each other their parents.

"I'm especially surprised to see _you _involved in such nonsense, Lucy. I thought you were above the foolish antics of your cousins, that you were well behaved-like your sister." Professor Longbottom told her personally during detention, shaking his head in confusion. "You've never been in here before because you're a nice, polite girl. Has something happened to you over the summer? Anything wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Professor," she said, smiling up at him from her desk. "I just decided to do some character adjustments."

"Well, I think you might have 'adjusted' yourself the wrong way. I want to see the old, well-behaved Lucy back. Where's she gone?"

"With Molly," she replied, and meant every word of it.

….

"Your father tells me you've been having some..._trouble _coping this year. He said it might have something to do with the fact that this is your first year at school without your sister. Percy thought you might be more comfortable discussing the situation with me, as opposed to him." said Lucy's uncle Ron, looking at his niece from across the table. It was Christmas break, the first time he'd seen her since the start of the school year, and Lucy looked completely different.

Her normally long red hair had been chopped far above her shoulders and she had purple highlights. She seemed angrier, possibly more bitter than normal. And there was the matter of the sudden increase in the amount of trouble she was getting in, the number of detentions. In Ron's mind, a detention or two couldn't hurt, but the fact that Lucy had jumped from being a very good girl these past four years to a detention every few weeks was very strange.

"Is something wrong that we're not aware of, Lucy?"

"No,"

"Do you miss your sister? Is that it?"  
"Not really. I mean, we're hardly what you could call close."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Who said anything's wrong, Uncle Ron? Maybe I'm just tired of being judged and compared. All the time, it's '_oh, you're so like Molly_', '_always behave, like your sister_', or '_Molly would never do that_'. Just once, I'd like to _not _be compared to her, like she's some standard I have to live up to."

"I know how you feel," Uncle Ron said.

"How?"

"I'm the youngest boy of six-don't you think _I _had to live up to the standards of my brothers? I had to be smart and polite, well-behaved and decent. I had to get good marks, be decent at Quidditch, be funny and well-liked. It drove me mad those first few years, trying to live up the name that my brother's had made, or were making, at Hogwarts. You just have to realise, it doesn't matter what Molly did or does. You have to be _you_. Just...can you do it and behave? For Percy?"

"Sure,"

…..

_**I really just couldn't figure out what to write about her. Lucy (and the Next Generation in general) just aren't my best. I like to think I'm really good at the more minor characters, the ones hardly any one writes about, because I have so much more wiggle room. **_


	20. Alicia Spinnet: Save Me From My Suffers

_**It might get a little...disturbing? Is that the right word? Warning anyway for violence and death. **_

….

When she closed her eyes, she could still hear screaming. Shrieking voices, male and female. Friend and enemy. She couldn't even differentiate between people, wasn't sure if it was just _her _screaming, and all of the noise wasn't just in her head. Maybe it _was _all in her head. May second, a day that would be forever in the history books. Why couldn't it have just been a delusion?

"_Please help me!_"

She could still hear her old friends, calling out for help, shouting curses at Death Eaters. Running, and there were walls crumbling around her. She had watched people jumping out the windows, stories up, because there was just no other option. The school had been burning-her home. Her home was on fire and she wanted to just stop and cry.

"_I need help!"_

There had been a little girl, trapped under fallen rocks, crying out for help. Alicia had dug and dug, her fingers sore and bleeding, the tears running down her face. She kept expecting for some Death Eater to show up behind her and just curse her then and there. She almost might have welcomed it. The little girl just kept sobbing and asking for someone to get her out.

"_I don't feel good. My arms hurt."_

Alicia hadn't been able to get the girl out, she was too far in. Alicia wasn't able to move the larger rocks, even with her wand. She hadn't been able to get the little girl out, and that broke her heart. She wasn't capable of saving another person's life, and she felt like such a failure. She had asked the girl her name. Alicia didn't even know her, she just wanted to be able to say that this little girl had died in battle, she wanted to be able to tell the girl's family what had happened.

"_Natalie Lowe. I'm Derek Lowe's little sister."_

She had apologised to the girl, told her there was just nothing she could do. The girl had said that she understood, but she wanted Alicia to tell her mum that she had been happy. That she had enjoyed Hogwarts and she loved her mum and her older brother, Derek. Alicia agreed to find them and tell Mrs. Lowe about her daughter. She never found either of them alive, just bodies lying next to each other under a sheet. She had to put Natalie's name on the list of victims herself.

"_Alicia, you've got to stay awake. You're bleeding pretty heavy, but you've got to stay awake." _

She hadn't even noticed the blood, wasn't aware that her shoulder had a large cut from the rocks she had been trying to pull away. She had wandered through the halls of the school, dazed and confused. People were screaming all around her and Alicia couldn't quite figure out why nothing was touching her. Why she wasn't dead yet. Why couldn't she just die?

"_Is she okay? Alicia, can you hear me?" _

Why was it she had survived, when that little girl hadn't? Why did she only suffer bleeding from the shoulder and a broken wrist, yet Natalie Lowe and her entire family had died? What made Alicia special, more important than a twelve year old girl with so much potential? Alicia was just nothing more than an intern at _Which Broomstick? _She wasn't going to do anything particularly fantastic with her life, so why was she _still alive_?

"_We are gathered here today to bury a sweet family that many of you knew very well. Mrs. Patricia Lowe and her two children, Derek and Natalie fought in the Battle of Hogwarts..."_

She went to the funeral. Of course she went to the bloody funeral, she had seen Natalie off. She had tried to rescue her personally, and had failed, and then Alicia had sat there and talked to a little girl until she died. It almost seemed disrespectful to _not _say good-bye to Natalie Lowe, even if she hadn't known her. Had met her in the strangest of circumstances and only been acquainted with her for twenty minutes. So, she saw a twelve year old girl be buried alongside her sixteen year old brother and their mum.

"_You don't need to feel guilt, Alicia. You're alive, you've survived, yay. But there's no need to kill yourself for living."_

Katie and Angelina had been worried about her, said she didn't speak enough or eat enough. "Survivor's guilt", they called it. Said it would go away, eventually, but she had to _work _at the pain to make it go away. But giving the pain in her chest a fancy name and telling her how to make it stop didn't prevent her from looking in the mirror each night and wondering, _Why me? Why the fuck was it me? _The only way to make the aching of her body, the screaming in her mind, go away was hot showers, with her own blood pooling at her feet.

"_Alicia, don't. Don't do that, it's not fair." _

What did Lee know of fair? What did he know about singing a little girl to her death, separated by mere feet, yet unable to do a single _damn thing! _What did he know about burying a stranger? Did he feel the pain that she felt? The sorrow that plagued her every waking moment? Why wasn't she dead? Why couldn't she just fucking _die_? She just wanted it to all go away. She wanted to sleep, like Natalie Lowe. She wanted to stop hearing voices.

"_We're here for you, Alicia. Let us help."_

She didn't want help. She didn't _need _help. She just wanted them to all understand that she was hurting. Alicia didn't need a hug or medicine or a psychiatrist. She needed someone to understand she was hurting inside, so she needed to hurt outside as well. But no one seemed to get that. They just said she was depressed, that she was feeling guilty. Guilty? Guilty about _what? _Fuck them-what did they know?

"_I just want you to understand that I love you, Alicia. I just want to help you get better, because I love you." _

She didn't understand what they…..what _he _meant when he said he loved her. She wasn't quite sure what love was, because all she could see was the body of a young girl, pinned under the rocks. All she could see was two tiny coffins, as she cried. She couldn't understand what love was, because there seemed to be no love around her. Only pain, only sadness. Only….darkness.

"_If you'd just take my hand, Alicia….if you'd just take my hand. I'm here. I'm here, I'll always be here. Come on, Alicia, come with me." _

She looked up at him, trying to look past the blackness, the deep sorrow that shadowed her version. He nodded encouragingly, holding out a hand to her. She shuddered, stumbling to her feet, as she gripped his hand. He held her, his eyes offering…

_Hope._

_Comfort._

_Peace._

_Light._

"_Are you ready to face the world?"_

No, she wasn't. Not yet, not yet. Couldn't he just hide her away inside, keep her away from the stares and the questions? Couldn't she just…die? Because that's all she wanted-the long, eternal nap. But Lee was here, keeping her on her feet, keeping her alive. Keeping her lit.

….

_**Derek Lowe, while no last name is actually given in the books, is not mine. He is a character of J.K. Rowling's. I just made up the last name and his little sister. I've been getting pretty serious in my chapter subjects, haven't I? Next time is Olympe Maxime-we'll see where this leads to!**_


	21. Madame Olympe Maxime: Giantess I am Not

She did not want to see off her own children like cows to the slaughter. Because, to Olympe, who felt she would never have children who were of her own flesh, each students who walked through the doors Beauxbatons was a child of Olympe. And she would protect him like they were hers, not allow them to fight like lunatics against Karkaroff's students (who she felt were only being trained to be soldiers for the next Dark Lord, as if she was supposed to _trust _an ex-Death Eater!), or Dumbledore's students. That is what she would say for years afterward, that she was not in agreement with sending her students to compete in the sort of thing that might kill them. She told Dumbledore that personally when the three Headmasters of the three schools-Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and her own school Beauxbatons-met to discuss the idea of re-starting the 'TriWizard Tournament'.

Their students were brave and talented, but also young and very foolish. That was why there were so many casualties over the course of the three hundred years that the games had gone on. But Karkaroff had been more than fine with the idea-_encouraged _it almost. Olympe had reasoning and logic thrown at her, phrases about 'unity' and 'connecting with fellow witches and wizards'. Stuff like that it would help with international relations and make the students of varying nationalities all feel as if they were a part of the same thing, fighting for the same cause.

She didn't, couldn't, find the words to fight against them, tell them how ridiculous this all was. She could see the logic in at least building relationships with her English counterparts, whatever her feelings for their teachings. And a chance to take a break from being Headmistress all the long day-she could use that. So she agreed, feeling the entire time that, should something happen to even a single one of her students, Dumbledore and Karkaroff would pay with their own lives.

Perhaps it was the giantess in her.

She towered over people everywhere she went, struggling to feel like she could ever fit in anywhere. Nearly ten feet tall by the time she was twenty-three, Olympe did not have many options when it came to blending with the Muggle world. She couldn't quite adapt to normal rooms and beds, and there were hardly any clothing stores that were prepared to carry sizes for a woman of her stature. Besides, people _gawked. _

Oh, they gawked in the Wizarding World as well, but at least there weren't jokes made about it, no boys following her down the street, asking if they could get a peep under her shirt, or if she had balls when she told them she wasn't going to be letting anyone 'peep'. In the Wizarding World, there were lots more stranger than her, and she could blend in a little easier.

At the age of fifteen, Olympe was already nearly seven feet tall, a wonder even at Beauxbatons, where no boy would date her for fear that, should she get angry, she would turn against them. Because Olympe was not only very strong physically, but also smart and a more than capable witch. But she never could find a boy or a man to look past her stature and see a soft-hearted woman who lived the same way they did. Who loved the same things anyone else did.

Not that she usually minded. Her height was a very good excuse to keep out of balls and other frivolous events that a normal girl would be required to attend. She simply just could not fit in any regular ball gown and her grace and balance was a bit shaky. She got used to the stares and the questions by simply ignoring them or giving vague explanations that answered little, and left more questions.

_Normal girls do not have giantesses for mothers. _

She wanted to say it was more than easy to forgive and forget her unusual heritage. That she found it almost childishly easy to be able to say she was a half-giant. But she lived in a society where certain things just were frowned upon, and this was one of them. No, she could _not _forgive and certainly _never _forget the fact that it was all her parents fault that she was strange and different. That she was nearly never allowed to attend Beauxbatons because of the questions it might arouse.

Olympe was protective, very protective. Occasionally _dangerously _so, though she never felt that way herself. And she simply just did not want to see off her own children like cows to the slaughter. And, if Olympe Maxime had anything to say about it, no one was going to die this time. Too many people had been lost over the years, between the original TriWizard Tournament and the battle between Wizarding England and Lord Voldemort. There were so many people, even in France, who were picking sides-many of them with this so called 'Dark Lord'. She had watched her own students who she had taught march their way to England, confident that _they _would be able to help those silly Brits learn how to fight. She had attended many a funeral of some twenty-something year old and cried. How she could stand it all, Olympe still wasn't sure.

But Olympe felt like she had chosen the _best _side, at least morally. If only to protect her students, she would stand behind Dumbledore. As long as her children, her students, were not harmed-were not brought into matters of war and battle-she would stand behind him confidently, taking his side.

….

_**Wrote this all sorts of wonky, and I feel like none of it really connects. Haven't really done Madame Maxime the respect she deserves. Lovely character, her. I really did try to be funny, but I'm not in a happy sort of state, so I just gave up on a light-hearted story. **_

_**For whatever reason, I also did not decided to go into the ever so common Olympe/Hagrid situation-I blame the fact that I recently found out that they never got married according to J.K. and that sort of upset me, because Hagrid deserves love. And so does Olympe. **_


	22. Augusta Longbottom: Memories of Better

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon, category 'Indigo, negative' (write about someone being addicted to someone) I always felt that Augusta might have had a slight...obsession with her only son. Not incest, so don't worry about that. Just some good old fashioned obsessions. **_

….

When she closed her eyes, she could sometimes still imagine that her son was just ten years old and sitting at her kitchen table.

_He is eating a ham and cranberry sauce sandwich, and she is telling him how unhealthy and ridiculous that was. Tells him his insides will soon be nothing but cranberry sauce and breadcrumbs. He smiles up at her and take a particularly big bite, dribbling sauce all over his chin, and Augusta would laugh. _

"Gran?" Neville, in the doorway. Ten years old, he had almost none of his late father's features. Augusta couldn't help but be bitter when she looked at him, nearly desperately, searching for what little of Frank she could find in her grandson's face. "Gran, can I go play outside?"

"Yes," she replied, not looking at his _blonde hair _(not Frank's) or his _blue eyes _(not Frank's). She focused on the dimple in his right cheek, (Frank's) wishing that her son hadn't been so stupid. What she would give up to be able to go back to that day, explain to him that he _could not _be an Auror. It was too dangerous, and he would only end up hurting her.

"_It's just Auror, Mum. I'm only eighteen, they're not going to put me in front of a bunch of Death Eaters with wands. I'm only going to be a trainee and a Firstie at that. I don't know why you're so worried." He smiles, taking her hands, means every single damn word. Frank, who doesn't realise that eighteen is old enough to die. Old enough to walk away from his mother and never look back. _

"Do you think you can walk with me around the block?" Neville asked, still standing frozen in his spot in the doorway, watching his gran with curious eyes. "Maybe we could go see a movie or something."

"Why are you so insistent on getting out of this house?" Augusta asked, not making eye contact with him, yet. Don't acknowledge that this is _not _Frank. Not her son, but a pale imitation of his mother. "Is there something wrong with my house?"

"N-no." he mumbled, shuffling his feet. She almost felt guilty for being so sharp, but Neville was weak and he needed someone to build him up. Someone to make him stronger, turn him into the sort of man he needed to be. The sort of man his father had been, before Frank had died.

"_I know you like to control every little thing I do, Mum, but this simply just isn't your choice to make. So what if she's not quite up to your standard? She's Pureblooded, or as much as one _can _be, and she's pretty and I love her. What's so hard to understand about the fact that I'm marrying for love and for companionship and not just for status or the ability to show off a trophy wife. That's just not how I work." _

"I didn't say I don't like the house, Gran. It's just...we hardly ever leave other than to get groceries and I'm so _bored _here. I'm ten years old and I don't know a single other kid on this block. All I ever do is sit in the garden or read. I'm _bored_."

She turned on him harshly, frowning. Neville almost immediately backed down, quickly shrinking back into his normal shy, quiet self. "I am here to _protect _you, Neville. Every thing I do, _everything_, is for your safety and benefit. You think I _like _having you around the house all day doing nothing? Of course not, but this is the only way you'll be safe, because if I don't keep you inside, you'll _leave me! _I don't want you to leave me, Frank." She had gone too far, clapping a hand over her mouth and shaking her head. That had been the wrong thing to say. Neville was crying now, angry tears and tears of embarrassment.

"I'm not my dad! Why do you always compare me to him? I'm not _him!_" Neville said, choking up. He gave her one last distraught look and turned on his heel, rushing out of the room. Augusta almost got to her feet to follow him out, but decided to remain in her seat, letting him work out his own problems. Let _him _figure out what he was thinking and feeling.

She knew that she had said too much, pushed the wrong button. But he just wasn't Frank, and it sometimes frustrated her. She just wanted her son back, that's all. She didn't want to be stuck taking care of her grandson all day, worried that some crazed ex-Death Eater would come by and try to take away the last connection she had to her only son.

Was she turning away her own grandson? Was her actions, her nearly obsessive desires to bring back her son doing nothing but pushing away Neville? Surely he understood what she meant when she said he was like Frank. Augusta did not feel that she was doing anything _wrong _by comparing her grandson to his father. Didn't every boy want to be told they were just like their dad? Just as clever and strong and talented. (Even if it wasn't true, in Neville's case.) Was it wrong to sometimes talk about Frank and how much Neville reminded him of her?

"_His name is Neville. Neville Frank Longbottom, your first grandchild. Aren't you excited, Mum? You're a grandmother."_

"_He doesn't look much like you, does he?" she asks, wrinkling up her nose. "Not much, really. Got that girl's hair and her eyes and her chubby little face. Are you sure it's even yours?"_

"_Of course I'm sure! Mum, that's rude! He's _your _grandson, can't you even _act _like you might love him, even a little bit?"_

She loved Neville. She did, she absolutely _did_. But Augusta just couldn't help but look at him and see only Frank and what was clearly _not _Frank. Today's actions, however...she needed to apologise. She needed to be able to separate son from grandson. Neville was himself, wasn't he? He was nothing like Frank, really.

Augusta needed to act like she understood that.


	23. Dolores Jane Umbridge: Slytherin True

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon. Category 'Silver, negative' (Write about a Slytherin)**_

"_You know, I think sometimes we Sort too soon..."-Dumbledore_

"_It is often not always clear why certain students are Sorted into their respective Houses, but eventually, all will come to pass and the truth shall be seen clearly."-K._

….

Dolores had never been the tallest of girls. She was simply just not very tall. That one little, almost seemingly useless, fact about her would remain a constant in her life-_she was not very tall_. Only just over five feet tall by the time she was fifteen, she was more commonly mistaken as a First Year. She was the size of your average ten or eleven year old for most of her life, not that Dolores let that bring her down.

Often, the other students in her year, as well as other years, would call her 'The Toad' because of her somewhat amphibious looks. (Dolores also loved hair bows, and usually wore one in her brown hair every day.) They laughed at her and said she could be used for a Quaffle during the next Quidditch match. That was a way of life for Dolores for her, a constant barrage about her height and her looks. _Dolores was simply just not very tall_.

The Sorting Hat had put her in Slytherin at eleven years old, during a time when being a Slytherin simply was another way of saying 'Future Death Eater'. (It wasn't, of course, true-but the number of Slytherins who went on to _become _Death Eaters didn't help bolster anyone's opinion of the House.) Not that little Dolores really cared-she felt that she _deserved _her place among the other Slytherins. The Hat had quite a tricky choice before it, or so it seemed. The debate between whether or not she belonged in Slytherin or Ravenclaw was a tough one, for Dolores _was _a rather clever little girl. (_You'd do well in either House, though one will lead to suffering, I can see. Clever, yet cunning...better be...Slytherin!_) She hopped off her stool, a tiny little thing of a girl, and took her place-her _rightful _place, she thought to herself-amongst all the other Slytherins. There was some laughter, some looks of shock; of course there was-she was so small! Dolores didn't look threatening at all. And she wasn't...not yet. Not as that tiny little First Year, the one that every laughed about. They just needed to give her some time.

"_Where's Dolores? I can't seem to find her."_

"_Do you think she's hiding again?"_

"_Snuck off, maybe? Wonder where she is." _

The jokes were common place. She quickly became used to the comments about her stature and her looks. Dolores' housemates quickly learned not to fight against Dolores Jane Umbridge. She was a complete menace, quickly figuring out how to play other students against each other. She could lie like crazy, convincing students and teachers alike that she was a _good girl_, who was only concerned with her education and learning as much as possible. Dolores was eerily fast at finding out the latest school gossip and was not shy about exploiting secrets. She managed to recruit nearly all the other First Year Slytherin girls into going around the school and find out all that happened.

Dolores did not see what she was doing as necessarily _wrong _so much as just another way to get ahead. Isn't that what Slytherins did? Crafty, cunning, willing to do whatever was necessary. She was proud of her silver and green robes, the way that _her _House was a House of determination and sneaky intelligence. No one would ever _dare _laugh at her again, when they got to know the true Dolores Jane Umbridge, the girl who was twenty feet tall, simply just disguised as a quite, simpering little sweet child. Sweet? _Innocent_?

"_Or perhaps in Slytherin,  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means,  
To achieve their ends."_ It was a shame the others, the other students and the other teachers, didn't see the world the way she did. Things would go over a lot smoother if they would just _understand_ that, as a Pureblood, she had status over the Half-bloods, the Mudbloods, and the half-breeds. Why didn't they just _see _that there were some people who were just _born _better, purer. Like Dolores, who came from a Pureblooded family. It was a shame that they were so desperately trying to push these false laws of 'equality for all', when it was so, _so _obvious: People were _not _equal. Not at all. One day, they would realise that Dolores was right, that she was telling the truth about all of this. Dolores was more than just a sneaky, clever little Slytherin-she had goals, and she knew how to achieve them. Dolores would join the Ministry, she would _succeed_. People would listen to her, they would see that she was _right._ She was right and they were wrong. The Purebloods needed to succeed, and everyone else was simply there to follow along. Rules. The world needed rules. And Dolores Jane Umbridge was just the person to bring the rules to the world. "_Dolores Umbridge...there's something weird about that one."_ "_I just don't trust her, you know?"_ "_She's got that sort of...almost _evil _side to her. As if, one day, she'll just snap."_

"_I think she already _has _snapped, to be honest."_

….

"Not with your quill, you're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Now, I want you to write, _I must not tell lies_."

"How many times?"

"Well, let's just say, as long as it takes for the message to-sink in." She smirked down at him, handing him a Blood Quill. _Liars deserve to be punished. And you understand that you're a _liar_, don't you? _Potter needed to be punished, needed to understand what happened to those who broke the rules, who tried to cause mayhem amongst peace.

"You deserve to be punished, don't you, Mr. Potter?"

….

_**I see Dolores as having gone to Hogwarts around mid-50s. She didn't seem young, but she didn't strike me as this super old lady, either. End part (spoken words) belong to Rowling, not me. Ugh, this was such a headache to write. **_


	24. Olive Hornby: What Is Seen

Olive really, _really _didn't want to be here right now. She wanted to be outside, enjoying the last few minutes of bright sunlight before classes began. She wanted to be talking to her friends. She wanted to be studying-anywhere besides right here, right now.

"Myrtle?" she called into the girl's toilets, half-expecting to find the sniveling, crying girl perched on a toilet, her eyes red. Myrtle had always been a sensitive girl, _too _sensitive, Olive thought. She was always crying about something, whining and sniffling and acting like the whole world was against her. And now, it was _Olive's _job to go fetch Myrtle from the toilets, _just _because had made a teensy comment about Myrtle's glasses.

"Myrtle, stop hiding in there. We've got classes in a few minutes and I'm not going to be late for _you_." Olive said, crossing her arms. Why did Myrtle always seem to feel the need to be so dramatic? Olive hadn't really been _that _mean, not really. Besides, Myrtle's glasses _were _pretty ugly. "Come on, grow up, Myrtle."

There was still no answer, and Olive sighed. Was she really going to have to go in there and fetch Myrtle? Olive had always ended up being the one to fetch Myrtle when something went wrong; the other girl's felt that every time something went wrong with the bumbling Ravenclaw, it was probably Olive's fault.

Olive really felt that three hours was more than enough for someone to calm down and see that everything was fine. Myrtle was just a dramatic baby who wanted attention, and Olive was having to suffer for it. Stupid, ugly, clumsy Myrtle. Always ruining Olive's life.

She sighed again, heading into the bathroom. "Myrtle, come on, this isn't funny. Where are you? Don't tell me you're _still _upset about what I said about your glasses. Don't be such a baby, Myrtle, I didn't really mean anything by it."

She looked around, waiting, _expecting_ Myrtle to peek out of one of the stalls and frown at Olive. "Myrtle? Myrtle, where are you? Grow up, Myr-whoa!" She had tripped over something on the floor, something cold. Olive looked down and saw an arm on the floor, which was connected to a body. _Myrtle_, on the floor dead. Olive nearly screamed with fright, but instead quickly backed away, shutting her eyes.

Maybe this was all just in her head. She _did _feel sick, and everything seemed to be spinning around her. Maybe she was just imagining this, and Myrtle was about to come out from her stall and ask Olive why she was just standing there with her eyes closed. Olive took one deep breath, trying to calm herself down.

Olive opened her eyes, begging for Myrtle's body to _not _be on the floor. She gasped, looking down at the body of her old classmate, which was quickly going completely blue. Myrtle seemed to have a look of shock etched into her face, as if she had been scared to death. Olive shook her head, thinking to herself that Myrtle's death was no reason to be foolish. People didn't just _die _of fright,that was ridiculous.

But there was Myrtle on the floor, her face as if she had seen some awful, horrible nightmare. Olive wanted to scream, but she took a deep breath, forcing herself to use the Ravenclaw side of her to _think_. She needed to get Headmaster Dippet-_he _would know what to do with Myrtle. Yes, leave the adults in charge of Myrtle.

She ran out of the bathroom in search of a Professor, not even noticing the somewhat bored looking figure sitting in one of the sinks. A pale, see-through girl who was just fourteen years old, and looked a lot like the little girl on the floor.

Oh, Myrtle was going to have a _lot _of fun.

….

It was, in the fourteen year old's opinion, the most _terrifying _and _frightening _thing to happen to her to date. After all, Olive didn't quite expect to see the ghost of a girl who had been dead for over ten hours to be sitting on her bed. _Most _people wouldn't have expected something like that.

And yet, there was the mostly transparent form of Myrtle, lounging calmly on Olive's bed. She still wore her Hogwarts robes, and her long dark hair was in pig tails. Most importantly, Olive could see Myrtle was still wearing those _ugly _old glasses that had started this entire mess.

At first, Olive thought that Myrtle was just an image that her mind had come up with, as a way of relieving today's stress. Surely, this _wasn't really _Myrtle, because Myrtle had been carried out of the building earlier that day under a sheet. Myrtle had been taken home to be buried by her parents. Myrtle was _not _sitting on Olive Hornby's bed inside the Ravenclaw tower, almost entirely transparent.

"Hello, Olive," said the girl who was _not _Myrtle. "It's nice to see you, again. What's wrong, are you shocked to see me?"  
"Are you real?" Olive asked, beginning to shake. Something told her that, despite all logic, this _was _Myrtle, or at least her ghost. And, if that was true, things did _not _look good for Olive. "Are you actually, properly real?"

"Of course I am, Olive!" Myrtle said, giggling. Olive had always hated Myrtle's giggle, and often would point out that it sounded exactly like a squealing bird. But now, she was too shocked to make any sort of comment, and Myrtle just kept giggling, laid out on Olive's bed. "I'm here, and so are you, and guess what? I'll never have to leave again! We can be _best friends_. Aren't you excited, Olive?"

"Uh-huh," Olive said, clutching nervously at a chair behind her. She needed to sit, needed to think. "Myrtle..." she said, looking up at the ghostly girl. "You _do _realise what's happened to you, right? You know that you're..."

"Dead?" asked Myrtle, and suddenly her eyes had become cold as she looked at Olive. "Of course I know. And soon, _you'll _realise how much fun it is to be _best friends _with a real ghost." Olive didn't like the smile on Myrtle's face.

She was _really _not going to enjoy this, was she?

….

_**Don't bully, you guys. If you do, you'll regret it, because the spirit of the person you bullied will follow you everywhere. But, seriously, don't bully, because it's not nice. **_


	25. The Fat Lady: Lonely Portrait

She had seen many students over the years. Many hundreds of Gryffindors who came to her, seeking entrance into the Common Room. Some had gone on to do great things, while others only made her cringe and shake her head in sorrow. Lost dreams, lost futures. Over the years, the Fat Lady had met people, people she liked, people she didn't care for at all, and people who died much too soon. Students that she took a liking, and others who she wondered about.

The Fat Lady had been the only protection for the Gryffindor Common Room for years. She was several hundred years old, having been painted in the fourteen hundreds, based off the wife of a previous Headmaster of Hogwarts. The original woman, the human one, had been a Gryffindor, and the Fat Lady had been adamant about protecting her old home, her old House. She wasn't even sure what the _human _her had been named, because none of the other portraits were entirely aware. The older, wiser portraits who had been here even before she had been the ones to inform her of her connection to the Headmaster. Other than that, she knew _nothing _about where she had come from, or who had painted her or why.

The other portraits said that she wasn't _really _that different, but she felt that she was. She was important, at least in her own mind, because she was the only portrait that could talk that protected something truly precious. Slytherin was guarded only by a wall and a secret password, Ravenclaw by a bronze knocker that spoke in riddles, and Hufflepuff by only by barrels blocking the door. But the Fat Lady protected her students as an intelligent (mostly) logical (assuming she wasn't drunk) sentient being. Didn't that make her special, as the only one who could keep her House safe? Young witches and wizards that would one day do something great-what else would she ever want to do, considering she had years and years ahead of her to just sit around and come up with passwords?

She had liked James Potter and Sirius Black-_those _two had been among her favorite Gryffindors. They were usually so polite to her and genuinely seemed to care about her. They talked to her, spoke to her more than just as a request to _please let me inside, I've told you the password. _It could lonely, being a portrait, but those two mischievous Gryffindors had made her feel better about it all.

"_My dear lady"_-Dumbledore had always been a charmer, even as a young student, coaxing her into letting him in when he had been out until two in the morning. The way he managed to talk her into just letting him inside, because she was giggly and flirty, and all one needed was the password. (She was adamant about one thing, and that was that everyone who went inside to the Common Room knew the password.)

Harry Potter, who at least said hello when he saw her, said please and thank you when he clambered into the Common Room or jumped back out. He smiled at her and asked her how her day went, even if he didn't always mean it. Even if he sometimes got annoyed with her, because she was too busy getting drunk with Violet. (It was one of the few things that portraits could do that helped them connect with the living, the lives they had never gotten to experience.)

She knew that some of the students knew how to get to her, using the fact that she was lonely and desperately searching for someone to talk to, but most of them just ignored her. She knew most of them saw her as _just another talking portrait_, and not as someone who needed companionship or at least a friend. She was a portrait, a way to get into the Common Room, and nothing more. It was a lonely life, but one she had lived for years.

Waiting for that special connection, someone to _understand _her, to realise that she, too, felt and heard and loved-it took far too long and she just didn't know how long it would be until one day they would get rid of her, replace her with some better form of protection. What would happen to her if she was forced to just _leave_? Where would she have to go?

….

Sirius Black, holding a knife aloft, threatening to tear her portrait up if she didn't let him in. The way he apologogises even as he does so, regret clearly speaking in his eyes, because he used to know her, used to talk to her like an old friend.

"Come on, please. You and I both know I'm completely loony. Please let me in, Lady. I need to do this. You don't understand."

She shook her head, refusing to swing forward, even if this was one of her old favorite students. He was mad, and she needed to protect her students, the ones sleeping calmly inside. Even if she had once loved this young man, she needed to protect her students from him, because that was her job-protecting Gryffindors.  
"Please. Please, Lady, just let me in, just let me in."

"You don't have the password, Sirius. I can't let you in without the password, and I don't want you inside just so you can kill innocent students. Go away, before I alert the Headmaster. I don't want you back in Azkaban, but you need to leave."

He growled, a low, guttural sound. A threatening growl. He held the knife up closer, and winced, bringing the knife down in a wide arc across her portrait. He had his eyes closed as the cloth ripped and she shrieked.

"Sirius Black! Sirius Black, in the castle! Someone help!" She didn't want to abandon her post-had never before abandoned her post-but she had no other choice. She fled, scampering through other paintings, ignoring the grumpy shouts. The portrait, the only thing separating dangerous criminals from her students, had been left unattended.

"I'm sorry," he said, then opened the portrait, climbing in. "I really am."

….

_**Ugh...I just don't want to deal with this chapter right now...just, not right now. Maybe later, but...not my favorite. It's that one chapter where I'm just like...nope. I'm going to go take a nap, because this is really starting to bother me. I'm going to take a nap because the next chapter is Mary Cattermole.**_

_**I might have to just stop altogether, if I get so stuck like this ever again. **_


	26. Mary Cattermole: Everything is Fine

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon, category 'Turquoise, positive' (write about someone being misunderstood**_

….

She sometimes wondered what might have happened if things had turned out differently. If it hadn't been her trial that Harry Potter interrupted. If it hadn't been her husband that Ron Weasley pretended to be. Where would her children and her husband be? Where would she be? Dead, in prison, or worse? Often times, she would stay awake for hours, wondering if it had been a stroke of luck that all of this had happened to her, or if she was meant to survive.  
"Are you okay, Mummy?" Her daughter, Maisie, asked her, and Mary glanced, with what she hoped was a calming look, down at her eldest daughter. Maisie was set for Hogwarts next year, if there even was still a Hogwarts for her to go to. There was no telling what had happened to the school, to England, since the Cattermoles ran away in September. They ran away, tail between their legs and didn't look back.  
"I'm fine, Maisie, dear. I'm only thinking about things. Mummy's okay. _I'm _okay. We're all okay, isn't that right? Everyone's fine. Mummy was only thinking, is all." Oh, Merlin, she was rambling down, just rambling like crazy.  
"What're you thinking about?" asked seven year old Ellie, who had been sitting on the bed calmly up until that moment. Now, she was alert and attentive, listening to every word her mother said. Ellie and Maisie and even four year old Alfred were very bored, because all there was to do was play in the long grass with their cousins, and they'd already done that today.  
"Nothing, Ellie. Just thoughts, okay. Mummy was just thinking. Go back to your dolls, you two." She sounded angrier than she had meant to, but Mary was tired and wanted a moment of peace to herself. Just a moment was all.  
Reggie had managed to contact his brother in Wales, where he had lived with his family, calmly and peacefully for years. For the most part, they were unaffected by the troubles that so drastically had changed the life of those who lived in England, like Reginald. But now, the war had come to Darren Cattermole in the form of his younger brother and his family. Mary felt like she was constantly intruding on Darren's life with his wife, Danielle, and his children. The house felt uncomfortable, like annoyance and frustration was just bumbling under the surface, waiting for someone to trip some sort of wire and start everyone fighting. Mary was constantly being told how to manage her own children by Danielle, and she just had to sit there and take it.  
All Mary really wanted to do was go back to England, continue her job as a painter, let her children attend Hogwarts-let life go back to normal, the way it had been a few months ago. Now, she lived in a tiny room, sharing a bed with her husband and her three children, because Darren had a tiny house. She felt like an outsider, listening to Darren and Reggie talk and talk. They never even discussed the war, only mentioning the possibilities of Reggie finding a job here in Wales, buying a house. As if they were going to stay here permanently! _He hadn't even asked her how she felt. _  
There were days where she just wanted to scream at the world, beg for a reason why everything was happening to her. Why was her life so messed up? Where was her happy ending? But then, after a very good cry in the bathtub (because they had always made her feel better as a child, and that remained true far into adulthood), she would remind herself that life could be a lot worse. She could still be in England, dead or in jail, or being tortured. She could be separated from her husband and her children. You-Know-Who could be on the doorstep right now, holding a wand at her head.  
Mary shook her head, trying to remind herself that right now was _not_ the moment to be thinking of what ifs. She needed to focus on being alive now, on keeping her children safe. If the children saw that their Mummy was down in spirits, she would _never_ be able to reassure them of their fears.

"Don't worry, Mary. Have heart, remember? The children look up to you, as their mother, as their protector." Reggie told her one night, when she had collapsed against him, broken and crying. She had gotten angry at his words, pulling away from her husband and scowled. Her tears, which still stung on her cheeks, had been forgotten in that moment, as she was overtaken by annoyance and frustration. Sometimes, Reggie didn't understand how she felt.  
"And what are _you_ doing, Reginald? What are you doing to help your family? All I see you do is plan your life here, in Wales! As if you plan on _living_ here! Don't tell me aren't considering it, I can see it in your eyes. That's what you and Darren want, isn't it, to remain here forever? Maybe that's fine for _you_, Reggie, but not for _me_ and _certainly_ not my children! If I need to, I will take them back with me when I return." She had stomped away, out of the tiny house full of people and pitying looks, because _Mary_ was a Muggleborn, and _Mary_ didn't understand because she was a girl, and _Mary _needed to sit back and listen to the men talk, like they were the only ones capable of thinking of anything. Like her opinion mattered for naught.

_Because she didn't understand. _

….

Reggie didn't even bother trying to follow after Mary, or try consoling her. He, Reginald, had learned years ago-when they had first met back in Hogwarts for the first time-that Mary could be rather...emotionally unstable when she was upset, angry, or even stressed. And right now, she was all three; she didn't mean to explode at Reggie, he knew that, but the situation had just set her on edge. (She always felt bad after the argued. Reggie _was _very nice and he _did _love her, in his quirky way.) She was always so tense now, he could see, with her fists clenched and always biting her tongue to keep from saying the harsh words. She rarely ever spoke to him, or anyone really, anymore and he was rather worried about her.

Mary just needed a chance to relax, that was all. A chance to cry without being watched. Mourn her friends and family back in England who had _not _managed to escape the persecution of the Death Eaters. She needed time to realise and accept the truth-that she was safer, here in Wales. There were no Dark Lords taking over Wales.

(At least, _not yet_.)


	27. Helena Ravenclaw: Hide My Pain

_**Written for the the 'Colors Competition' by Empress Empoleon, category 'Orange, negative' (write about someone covering up their true feelings). Prepare for a lot of these. A whole lot. As in, twenty or so of these over the next month. I love her competitions, they give me so much inspiration. I'm not sure why...they just do. **_

….

Her mother had been very important for as long as Helena could remember. Even as a young girl, she had very firm memories of important looking witches and wizards tramping through the house. They were always looking for her mother, and rarely gave Helena any attention. Occasionally, she would get a pat on the head, or they'd come with a piece of candy, but mostly, Helena was expected to _sit still _and _stay quiet. _

Was it wrong of her to sometimes hate her own mother? To feel bitter towards Rowena, for ignoring her only daughter? Was it wrong of her to be angry at her mother for being too wrapped up to see the tears that Helena wiped away, so no one would notice? Helena thought not. She felt that her mother, if she truly _looked_, and did not just glance, at her daughter...she would see that Helena walked around with a mask of innocence. In reality, Helena was bitter and angry and already had a special hate for the world, all at the tender age of nine. She wore a mask, a mask of sweet, curious childhood. But it was a _mask. _One no one ever really bothered to check under.

A little girl with her hair in long, dark curls, Helena took to being a shadow. She was always following people around and asking questions. After all, she was the daughter of _Rowena Ravenclaws_-she was expected to be at least a little clever. The children of her mother's school-the very first students-would shoo her away, demanding that she was bothering their studies. Helena couldn't wait for her _own _eleventh birthday, when she would be trained for seven years under her mother. But for now, she was only nine.

Her best friend was a fourteen year old girl named Lilith. Lilith was a student of Lady Hufflepuff's, but she was one of the few students who ever seemed to give the little dark-haired girl a second glance. She never shooed Helena off or told her that she was being bothersome. Lilith sat down and _listened _to Helena's thoughts and opinions. With _Lilith_, Helena was important.

That wasn't how things were with her mother, though. Often, Rowena would go days without seeing her only daughter, only coming in to their little cottage where the two lived every now and then, mostly to grab notes or make sure Helena hadn't done anything ridiculous. Helena occasionally got a letter or two, usually very brief, from her mother. The letters would mention what Helena had to work on with her tutors, which spells she ought to know. Rarely, they would contain little presents-a pin or a piece of bone from an elephant. But, more often than not, the only warning Helena got that her mother was going off traveling _again _was a word or two from her or the tutors or the house elves or the students up at Hogwarts.

Helena couldn't help but feel angry, and a little jealous, of her mother. She would _love _to be famous, to be a world-renowned teacher, to have dozens of students all over the world flocking to _her _just to learn. Helena felt that she was capable of great things, if her mother would just give her the chance. But most times, her mother treated Helena like a delicate little girl who didn't have any sense.

And Helena, who so desperately wanted her mother's approval, would always fake how she felt, pretending like she was in complete agreement with anything Rowena said. _Yes, _she _was _too young to go traveling. _No_, she _wasn't _trained or skilled enough in magic.

But that wasn't the truth, not for Helena.

...

"I am going away for a while, Helena," her mother said one morning over breakfast. She wasn't even looking at Helena, as she munched on the bread that their house-elf, Danke, had made them that morning. Helena scowled down at her own breakfast-ham and eggs-wishing that her mother would _just once _allow her to go on one of these trips. But Rowena always said that Helena was too young, too innocent. That she didn't know enough, wasn't ready.

"Is something wrong, dear?" Rowena asked, taking in the frown on her daughter's face. "Is everything okay? Was it those boys of Salazar's again? I _can _talk to them if you want me to, darling. I _am _here for you, you know." She almost immediately went back to the papers next to her plate, not even bothering to wait for a response.  
"Hardly," Helena mumbled under her breath, scowling at the ground. "Only when I am in _trouble_."

"What was that, Helena?" Rowena glanced up from her notes, looking startled. "What did you say?"

"I said I am fine, Mother. No one is bothering me; I am perfectly fine," She gave her mother her brightest smile, acting like it was _all fine _that she would be stuck in this stupid cottage with house elves and tutors, while her mother traveled the world. No wonder no one treated Helena with any respect-she wasn't allowed to _do _anything interesting!

"Are you sure, dear?" But her mother wasn't interested, and Helena had already put her mask of happiness and love back on. She was _happy_, she was _pleasant_. Everything was _fine _in her life. Why, she wanted to scream, why don't you see I am faking this?

One day. One day, her mother would see the truth. Helena would get back at her in some way, and she would be able to show her mother-and the world-that she was important. That she meant something, and she was going to do something really big with her life. She would put even her mother's intellect and skill to shame.

She would no longer have to _pretend _like she was happy being alone all the time. She would never have to pretend _anything _ever again.

….

_**I have a really unusual fascination with little Helena. I like the little girl, or at least, the before-death Helena. She's just..interesting to write. **_


	28. Demelza Robins: In Need of A Friend

_**Written for the 'Colors Competition' by Empress Empoleon, for the category 'orange, positive' (write about friendship). Stick with me on this one, guys. This IS definitely a 'friendship story'. I promise.**_

….

"_If there ever comes a day when we can't be together, keep me in your heart, I'll stay there forever."-Winnie the Pooh_

….

Demelza had not always been a confident girl. She had been born with auburn hair and large brown eyes that were always lit, her brain constantly going. Demelza was always moving, her fingers twitching, her feet tapping the floor. She could _not _stay still for too long, like there was something pulling her to _move. _Sometimes, though, she just couldn't move, no matter how hard she tried. Demelza had been a mystery to Muggle doctors and Wizard Healers since she was just four months old. Sometimes, she would just physically_stop. _Her mind would keep going, but her muscles froze and she was stuck in her own dark little world.

There were often days where she would have to just mentally shut down, as a child, and wouldn't be able to _do _anything. Her parents took her to Healers as well as Muggle therapists, hoping someone could come up with an explanation as to why their daughter would just pause in the middle of a project. Her eyes would go blank and it was almost like she was sleeping; Demelza was never aware of went on around her during these moments, which her father had begun calling her 'awake sleep' state. The only connection they could make was that the more nervous Demelza became, the more likely her 'black outs' were to appear. The only time she felt truly _happy _anymore was when she was in the air flying, because, on a broom, she never seemed to be affected like normal.

There were times when the Healers and her parents discussed whether or not it was _safe _for Demelza to go to Hogwarts. What if she fell 'asleep' in class, or walking down the stairs? Would her fellow classmates or her teachers be able to get to get her to safety? Would they be _willing_to? She didn't think she would be able to stand _not _being allowed to train with all the other students.

For several years, Demelza waited for her letter, half-expecting it to never come, because Dumbledore had decided the school just couldn't handle her. There were days where she just cried and cried, reverting back to her 'sleeping' state and not eating at all. Her parents worried for her, and Demelza would wonder if it was even _worth_ it to get in. If the stress this would cause her parents was worth being able to study alongside other _normal_ students.

But Demelza _did_ get accepted to Hogwarts, as I'm sure you know, and it was explained that the teachers were informed of her condition. They would be on the look out for the signs that said she was about to blank out. The school, Professor Dumbledore would be watching her at all times.

Demelza cried once again, but now with tears of joy. Getting her letter had been one of the best things to ever happen to her, and she was so grateful.

But, still, there was the voice in the back of her head that whispered, _No one will want to be friends with a girl like you. Not with someone who has problems. You're nothing but a burden._

...

She met Ginny Weasley on the train, a girl with bright orange hair and all smiles. Demelza wasn't sure what she brought to this friendship other than hesitant twitches of smiles and stories of her childhood. (Most of which she had to edit to leave out the 'sleeping')

Both girls had a strong and passionate love of Quidditch as well as a desire to show that they were stronger than they looked. The girls chatted over pastries and Demelza began to feel as if-just maybe-she really _did _belong here. Like she was meant to be a part of this.

By the end of the train ride, Demelza learned that Ginny had six older brothers, was the only girl for seven generations, and she wanted to be in Gryffindor. Demelza enjoyed the company of this happy, cheerful girl, especially since it meant that maybe Demelza could just hide behind Ginny's loud attitude, and no one would notice her strange quirks, and the way she sometimes seemed to fall out of awareness. With Ginny, Demelza felt no one would notice her.

Ginny took to the quiet little girl quickly as well, though she wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe it had to do with the fact that she, _too_, had the quirky red hair, though with tinges of brown. Demelza was quiet, a little too quiet sometimes, but Ginny liked her. She seemed to almost..._complete _Ginny, the shy to Ginny's outspoken nature, the frantic motion to Ginny's steady hands.

They were best friends by the time Professor McGonagall called _Robins, Demelza. _Ginny squeezed the taller girl's hand encouragingly, and pushed her friend towards the hat. The two girls eagerly reunited ten minutes later at the Gryffindor table, happy to have ended up together once more.

….

Demelza was worried that the other girls in her House, who had _not _had quite the same special connection that she and Ginny did, would judge her. She was afraid they would look at her and immediately recognise that there was something _wrong _with her. But Ginny, who knew nothing about Demelza, simply just took her hand and encouraged her deeper into the room.

"C'mon, I'm sure no one is going to be looking at you. You and me, _we're _going to stick together, right? Best friends, right?"

"Of course," Demelza said, following her into the bedroom. There were three other girls, a blonde girl who was very tall, a thick Asian girl, and a rather short girl who had dirty blonde hair and tan skin. Their names, Demelza vaguely remembered from the Sorting, were Kasey, Rachel, and Danielle. They were talking quietly to each other when the door opened.

"Hey," said Ginny, waving at them with her free hand. She squeezed Demelza's hand as if to say _Don't let go, _and smiled around at the other three girls. "Good evening. It's very nice to see you all. I'm Ginny and this is Demelza."

"Hello," Demelza said quietly, already beginning to feel the edges of her eyes burning, the buzzing beginning in her ears. She couldn't take it, she didn't want these girls to stand around and _look _at her. She dropped Ginny's hand, running to her bed.

….

When she woke up later, it was to Ginny hovering over her..

"You okay?" Ginny asked her, frowning. "You slept forever."  
"I'm fine," Demelza mumbled, embarrassed.  
"Good, because I saved you some breakfast. Class starts in an hour." Ginny smiled at her sweetly, then turned and grabbed a pile of clothes off Demelza's dresser. She handed them off to Demelza, and smiled.

"It's nice to see you this morning, awake and happy. Did you sleep well?"

"Thanks." Demelza slipped out of bed with the uniform, feeling Ginny's eyes still on her.

"Don't mention it."

"Listen, I'll explain it to you. I PRoMIse. Just, give me a few minutes? And promise not to tell anyone?"

"Of course not. Whatever's wrong, it's _your_ secret to share, not mine."

"Thanks. I mean, _really_. Just...thank you."

"I'm your friend, aren't I? That's what friends do."

It was the start of a rather wonderful relationship. A fantastic friendship. A friendship that happened to be one of those lucky few that just never seemed to be tested.

At least, not for a long, long time.

….

_**Just so you know, I'm actually not sure if Demelza's 'condition' is a real thing. **_


	29. Rowena Ravenclaw: Wasn't Always Smart

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon for the category 'yellow, positive' (write about someone intelligent. And who is more intelligent than Rowena herself? Takes place around the same time as Helena's chapter. **_

….

"_Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."-Rowena Ravenclaw. _

….

Rowena was a smart woman, though she did not always see what was right in front of her. She was so caught in her own studies, her desires to improve both _her _education and the education of her students and students to come. She traveled the world, often with her friends and fellow teachers Godric and Helga. Together, the three of them attempted to uncover the secrets of the world, and to be able to prepare them for future generations.

Rowena felt guilty, sometimes, when she was off in China or somewhere, having adventures and meeting new people. Especially when recalling her nine year old daughter, Helena, who was always _begging _to go on even just _one _trip with Rowena. But Rowena was a grown woman, and she felt it was simply just not safe for such a little girl to be going to all the different places Rowena traveled to. The people were not always polite, the food was rarely any good, and it was always very possible one might just _die. _

No, she did not want to risk her daughter's life for _adventures_, but it didn't stop her heart from twinging when she thought of Rowena's clear blue eyes begging her mother for just _one _trip, just _one _chance to see more than her tiny world of the cottage and Hogwarts castle. Rowena was a smart woman, she knew how to keep her daughter safe, even if it did not always make her happy.

That had long been a debate of hers: whether vast knowledge and intelligence was worth the cost of making another person happy. Was it worth it to improve your _own _learning, even if it meant there was one less smile in the world? Rowena personally felt so, though Helga often would reply that smiles made up for lack of brains. But, Rowena supposed, that was what separated Helgafrom herself, or Godric from Helga. A different view, various opinions. Wasn't that part of the reason why the four of them had decided to start one school together, so they could teach all sorts of different children in the same building, instead of keeping them separate?

Rowena looked out the window of the tavern they were staying in, contemplating the likelihood of rain. She often liked to guess the weather-most people, namely Muggles, thought that such 'predicting' and 'blatant use of divination' was an act against God (silly Muggles that they were) but Rowena knew that, with enough intelligence, one could guess what the various clouds meant. One hardly needed to be a _witch _to know that it was very likely that it would rain later that evening.

Rowena sighed to herself. Many people now always said they would wish for vast intelligence, the ability to see all that was known. But did anyone truly understand the burden that such a knowledge carried when they had wisdom beyond their years. Such information, dwelling in her head for years made her tired and weary. There were days when she cursed her own fascination, her own uncontrollable interest in the unexplained. Why wasn't she brave like Godric, or friendly like Helga? She could be cunning sometimes, like Salazar, but all anyone ever seemed to know her for was that she was _smart. _

Yes, intelligence was a great thing to have, a beautiful mind something to be treasured. But what that all to life? Was that all that she had to live for? Studying all the hours of the day, locked up in libraries and never seeing the true light of day? Was it possible she was leading her own students-her own _daughter_-down the very same path of obsession? Or were they even wiser than she, and saw that it was better to have both the sun _and _a book in their hands?

"Rowena, the wise men wish to see us," Helga said cheerfully, shaking Rowena from her thoughts. Helga was wearing happy-looking yellow robes and her ever-present big smile. Rowena couldn't help but smile back, drawn in by the pleasant nature of her old friend.  
"What is it they want now?" she asked, getting to her feet. They had been here at this tavern, at the foot of a temple, for almost three weeks now. The three of them constantly traveled up to the temple to speak with the wise men about what they knew of the world. The men seemed very amazed that Rowena knew so much, that she was so educated for a woman, but she would only smile coyly and answer their questions about the world.

"They say that they have received letters from our students back at Hogwarts. They are from many months ago, but they are _certainly _our students. I believe most of the letters might have been written before we even set _off _on this journey, considering how soon they got to us!" Helga said, laughing.

"Perhaps," Rowena said, following after her friend. The two walked out of the tavern in silence, but Helga had never been one for silence and contemplation, and so quickly turned to Rowena.

"Do you suppose one of the letters might be from Helena? She seemed so terribly _upset _when we first set off. I hope she was not _too _distraught as to not write to her own mother. She must be awfully lonely and in need of her mother. After all, it _has _been nearly a year since we set out, has it not?"

Indeed. But Helena is a calm girl. She knows how to maintain her composure, and I have never seen her express any particular interest in '_connecting_' with me as her mother. She is smart, but I feel there is a distance between us."

"You miss her,"

"Every day." And no amount of intelligence could tell her that her aching heart was for nothing. No book or wise writing could tell her that the separation of Helena and Rowena was something that ought to _please _either of them. Rowena, though she was ashamed to admit such foolish feelings, was distraught. She just wanted her daughter back in her arms.

In that instance, Rowena wanted only one thing-something she could never truly have. She wanted her feelings to be more important than knowledge. But Rowena had removed herself from her daughter.

_Damn _her obsession with learning.


	30. Roxanne Weasley: Only Trying to Help

_**Written for the 'Colors Competition' by Empress Empoleon, for the category 'yellow, negative' (write about someone putting someone else down.) I'm about to have my head bitten off by all the Roxy fans, aren't I? I dunno, it said 'putting someone else down' and I immediately thought 'Roxanne Weasley'. Weird. **_

….

Roxanne Alicia Weasley did not consider herself a '_mean girl_'. She didn't trip people in the hallway or steal their stuff, she was merely offering advice. Advice for improving looks, or fashion, or who to date. Sure, maybe some of the things she said could have been worded differently, but she wasn't a _mean girl. _If anything, she was actually pretty helpful.

At least, she liked to think she was.

….

It was breakfast time at Hogwarts on a drizzly Friday that didn't seem likely to be getting any drier. Roxanne had already come down with her pack of well-styled, giggly friends when she noticed something amiss at the Ravenclaw table. She marched over to confront the girl-the _fashion emergency_, as Roxy called it-and her friends watched with anticipation. Roxy was constantly finding some poor girl who obviously needed fashion advice, and _she _was the one to do it.

"You could lose some weight," Roxy told her older cousin, Rose, as she plopped down next to her on the bench. Rose was just a year and a half older than her, a Fifth Year, and Roxy had very little respect for the way Rose dressed outside of uniforms. Usually, it was just jeans and a t-shirt. _"That," _Roxy had told her countless times before, _"that will _never _get you a boyfriend." _

"Excuse me?" said Rose, blinking. "What are you doing here, Rox? This is the wrong table. You belong over _there_, with your friends." She pointed towards the Gryffindor table, where her friends nodded and waved at her. "You know, _gossiping _and making fun of people?"

"I'm here _help _you, Rose. You know, cousin to cousin? You're a Fifth Year and you've never even had a boyfriend. Don't you think that's a bit sad and pathetic, Rosie?"

"I don't really care-" Roxanne cut her off with a wave of her hands, beginning to speak faster and faster in her excitement. _Rose _would be her new fashion project. (Though, it _would _be a lot of work, all things considered.)

"Listen, you like that Malfoy guy, right?"

"Rox!" Rose gawked at her, shaking her head wildly. "Don't say that out loud! Merlin, where did you _even hear _that? You're such a gossip!"

"It's okay, Rose, I won't tell anyone," Rose gave her a disbelieving look which Roxy chose to ignore. "Don't worry, I _won't_, promise. You can trust me, right? Good; anyway, what I was saying was that you could lose some weight, maybe do something with your hair, wear a shorter skirt. Probably going to need some make-up, since your face is so lop-sided, but I'm sure Malfoy will love you by the end. Pretty sure, anyway."

"Lose some weight?" Rose was staring at Roxy now, her cheeks and her ears a bright red. She was embarrassed, and Roxy couldn't help but think embarrassment did very _little _to improve her cousin's appearance. This one, she could see, really needed help.

"It's only ten or fifteen pounds that I'm talking about, Rose. I'm sure you'll be able to pull at least _that _off in a month, though I'm not so sure if I'll be able to properly re-teach you how to walk like a girl. It would be easier if you let your hair down like _this_," She tugged on Rose's hair tie, ignoring her cousin's squawks of indignation, and fluffed the red-head's hair. "See, you nearly look somewhat decent already! No need to thank me, I'm here for you. After all, not _all _of us are blessed with extremely good looks."

"You know what?" Rose said, getting to her feet. Her entire face was a bright red now and she seemed to be breathing rather hard. "Screw _you_, Roxy. Why do you have to be so _rude _all the time? Judging people, acting like you're _better _than all of us? I don't _think _so. No one needs your stupid advice! Certainly, not _me!_"

"Merlin," Roxy said loud enough for the people around them to hear. "Some people are _so _touchy. I mean, I was just trying to help." She could hear her friends giggling and twittering behind her, and she smirked at Rose, crossing her arms.

"And some people just don't know when to _shut up_. You think your _helping _people by calling them fat and ugly? Seriously, do you _really _think that? Because it's not true, Roxy, not at all. All you're doing is hurting people's feelings and making them insecure. I've seen girls crying in the bathroom because of you and your stupid friends. You _slut_."

"Excuse me?" Roxy shouted, feeling her own cheeks go pink. "I am _not _a slut! I'm just trying to _help _people like you, people who are too unfortunate to see they've got _issues! _It's okay to admit you aren't pretty, Rose. You don't need to call _me _a slut, when it's obvious you're the one with the problem. There's no need to lash out at me just because you've realised Scorpius will never love you." She could Professor Longbottom coming down from the Head table out of the corner of her eyes, but the blood was pounding in her ears now. She couldn't stop. "No one _likes _you, Rose. You're just a nerdy, ugly, _bitch._"

"_Fuck _you, too." Rose said, looking ready to punch Roxy. "At least _I _haven't slept with every guy in the school."

"Yeah, you've got a grand total of _none_. Who would want to sleep with _you? _Ugly, fat Rose-no one understands her, so she decides to take it out on her poor cousin."

"Excuse me? _You _started this mess."

"I did not! You bitch!"

"Ladies," said Professor Longbottom calmly. He took one of their hands in each of his, leading them out into the hallway. "Ladies." he said again. "That was _very _unacceptable behavior, especially from you, Rose."

"Sorry," the Ravenclaw said.

"_Bitch_," Roxy mouthed at her one last time. "_You're going down._"

….

_**Roxy's attitude is sort of based off this one girl from school who likes to go around and give people 'fashion advice'. She's hilarious. It's all a big joke for her-all the advice is usually pretty bad and stupid-but the number of girls who actually go through with her 'advice' is pretty crazy. Just shows you how crazy girls are, huh? **_


	31. Rose Weasley: Stand Up And Lie

_**Ironically enough, here is Rose's chapter. I guess this could almost be considered a double-dosage of Rosie. Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon, for the category 'green, positive' (write about the next-gen.) **_

….

Rose was a, more or less, good girl. She didn't ever get into any trouble, she was the Ravenclaw Prefect. Her grades set her at top of the class, and she had only ever gotten one detention in the first five years of her education. (It was, for the record, all _Roxanne's _fault.) She liked to think that her life was going pretty good. No unexpected teenage pregnancies, (Rose refused to become part of a statistic) no letters home telling her parent's about excessive fighting, no dropping out of school to join a Quidditch team. Rose was a _good _girl, and she liked her life that way.

Except for one thing: Scorpius Malfoy.

Scorpius Malfoy was Rose's fellow Prefect, fellow Housemate, and, most importantly, her _boyfriend. _As far as the entire school realised, the two of them were deeply in love and were destined to get married one day and make little blonde and ginger babies. Her father seemed disgusted by the idea, but it certainly seemed a lot better than the alternative. The _truth. _

_(Rose Weasley had kissed her own cousin. She had kissed Lily and she had liked it. Craved it, over and over again. ) _

She should like Scorpius, she should think he was cute. She should want to share a bed with him-but she doesn't. And the same thing is true for Scorpius about her. They had started their relationship with the expectations that it would go no farther than as a means to hide the truth from their friends and families. No one needed to know that their entire relationship was a sham.

That Rose's _life _was an entire sham.

_(She had thought Lily liked her. Truly liked her. She wasn't aware she was just another experiment for her rebellious cousin.) _

Scorpius was in love with Rose's cousin, Albus. But, he didn't want his father to know that his only son was _gay_. Sure, couples like that were more accepted today, but that didn't mean Draco Malfoy would accept something like that. And Rose didn't want to blemish her parent's perfect vision of her future. A future which included Rose marrying a sweet boy and giving them grandchildren.

A future which did _not _involve Rose kissing her own cousin, or telling Lily how much she loved her. Craved her. Or, she supposed, maybe her parents future for her didn't include _any _girls. Maybe it didn't matter if they weren't her cousins.

She just wanted them to understand.

_(She thought she was important to Lily, but she was just another toy for Lily. Something to use and then throw away. And Rose broke.) _

Her father found out the truth, by complete accident, when he caught her over the summer after Rose's Seventh-and final-Year. As a fully graduated adult, she felt it was time to move on with her life. She 'broke up' with Scorpius and had decided to invite a 'friend' over for the weekend. Rose was in love with the girl, and what had started out as a simple slumber party had turned into so much more when she found out about Hannah's true feelings for her. At least, until Ron decided to check upstairs on the two girls and caught them wrapped around each other in bed.

Her least favorite phrase in the world was 'We can work through this. We can solve this problem.' What problem? Rose didn't see a problem, but her father did. Being caught in the arms of a Sixth Year Hufflepuff named Hannai Jemsen was, in his mind, a _very big problem. _One that could be cured if Rose just talked it out, if she just explained what wrong with her life right now. Because she _couldn't _be in love with Hannai. Right?

"That Malfoy boy is the one for you, Rosie. I know I didn't support him and you before, but I see now that you two are meant to be. Why don't you just go back to him? Why don't you ask for him to forgive you, explain that that _girl _had been a mistake. Fix things before it's too late."

"_Fix things? _Why is it so wrong of me to be in love with Hannai, Dad? What's wrong with that? Is it because you're just _afraid _of people who are different? Well, jokes on you, darling Daddy! Scorpius is _gay. _He's in love with _Albus_, who is, by the way, bisexual. And I _like girls. _Maybe you don't approve of it, but it's the truth, and you're going to have to accept that fact."

"No-"

"Yes you _do. _Either accept me for who I am, or kick me out. I'd almost prefer to leave, if you're going to act so homophobic. I can't _believe _you."

_(She spent the next three weeks at her Uncle Charlie's place in Romania, ignoring all her mother's phone calls and her brother's begging to 'please come back'. She did not want to return until the day her father was able to say 'I approve' and mean it.) _

By the time she was twenty-three, Rose had figured out that she was more than in love with Hannai-she had a major obsession with the girl. She proposed to her long-time girlfriend, and the two married seven months later, in front of Uncle Charlie, Albus and his family, and her brother and mother. Again, Rose's father had still refused to accept his only daughter's lifestyle, and Rose held true to her promise. She had not stepped foot into her childhood home in nearly six years.

But what did the disapproval of a father mean when she had found true love? When she and Hannai were already planning on adopting a little boy or girl, when Dominique had already began a new generation nine years before. She was _different _from her father and her aunts and uncles. They all were.

They were there own generation, and things would be completely different now.

….

_**In case you're curious, I actually **_started **_this before I started Roxanne's chapter. Crazy how these things work out. But no joke, I really did start this before Roxy. _**

_**I fear I've just broken the hearts of Scorrose fans everywhere. Sorry. (Well, not really.) **_


	32. Sally-Anne Perks: Girl Everyone Forgot

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' (I should just stop writing this. It's just a given at this point.) by Empress Empoleon, for the category 'Blue, positive'. (Write about a Hufflepuff) Just happened to be terribly convenient that Sally-Anne Perks was next on the list and she is a Hufflepuff in my headcanon. **_

_**(Is that cheating?) **_

_**Anyway, I am calling this particular chapter Sally-Anne: The Girl that Absolutely Everyone Forgot (Except for Myrtle) **_

….

Sweet Sally-Anne. Innocent Sally-Anne. _Forgotten _Sally-Anne. The girl who's bed was in the corner, the girl who seemed to have no friends. Was it possible everyone had forgotten her? The other students outside of her own House seemed to have mentally erased any memory of Sally-Anne Perks. She blended into the background amongst her much louder classmates. She was quiet, she did her school work, and she waited.

Sally-Anne remembered very clearly the day she had left for Hogwarts, that happy September First. Her uncle and her brother had walked her to the train to see her off, and her uncle had offered to write to her every now and them. Sally-Anne had turned him down, expecting that she would make so many new friends at school, she wouldn't really _need _letters from home. Looking back on that day now, Sally-Anne realised how wrong she had been. She had _no _friends, and a letter from home would have been a wonderful thing.

Being Sorted into Hufflepuff, the friendly House, she had assumed the other girls would immediately welcome her, make them one of hers. But, it seemed, the other four had already _met_, already _bonded. _Only poor Sally-Anne had missed out on this wonderful opportunity to make many new friends, it seemed.

She waited for the day that someone, _someone_, would remember her. Often times, her name wasn't even called out during the morning roll, and her Second Year, McGonagall had completely forgotten to even give Sally-Anne her schedule. It had only been because Megan Jones knocked into Sally-Anne's milk glass that she was even mentioned at all.

Was it possible she was _invisible_? That she had just disappeared years ago, and hadn't realised it. Maybe she was dead and now a ghost. Maybe she just hadn't _realised _she was dead, but everyone else had. Perhaps she ought to go ask one of the ghosts, to see if they could tell her anything.

Sally-Anne, who had never before been so motivated to do _anything, _decided to go confront the only person she could think of who was in the same position as her; Moaning Myrtle, the ghost of a fourteen year old girl. Every seemed to have forgotten _she _existed as well, as least when they weren't complaining about the fact that Myrtle had flooded the toilets, again. Sally-Anne had met her entirely by accident when she had wandered into the wrong restroom, thinking she was on the first floor. Myrtle hadn't originally been very pleased, and had even threatened to flush Sally down the toilet if she didn't leave Myrtle alone in peace.

Over the past three years, Sally-Anne and Myrtle had started...well, it wasn't _quite _a friendship, but they at least would seek the other out when one of the girls was lonely or sad, or if Myrtle had been kicked from her toilets because Filch had to mop everything up, _again. _One might almost want to call it a tentative, hesitant acquaintance. Sally-Anne had decided that Myrtle, of all people, would be the best at determining if she had gone invisible or had died. Sally-Anne just hoped that she was in a good mood today. That wasn't always the case, and Sally-Anne usually would end up walking away dripping wet.

"Myrtle? Hey, Myrtle." she called softly into Myrtle's bathroom, just barely pushing the door open. There was never any telling what sort of state the ghost girl might be in, and she didn't want to startle Myrtle if she was going to only just attack Sally-Anne. "Myrtle, it's me. Sally-Anne. I had a question for you."

"What?" the ghostly girl asked, floating from her stall. She seemed to be particularly miserable today, and Sally-Anne backed up, wondering if this was a bad idea. She didn't want to have to go to Charms wet, even if no one would even notice.

"Is everything okay, Myrtle? Is everything fine? Because I can come back later, you know. I can wait to ask you my question-"

"No, go on, ask me. Does it really matter how I feel? You living people are always so concerned with your own problems and it doesn't really matter how us dead girls feel, now does it? No, _my _problems don't matter. So, go on ahead, Sally-Anne, ask away! See if _I _care." She harrumphed and gave Sally-Anne an impatient glare.

"Sorry, did you say _I _was alive?"

"Of course I did. I can clearly see you, all flesh and blood. Lucky you, you're alive, and now you've got to come in here and torture _me_ about it, like being dead is all some sort of joke. Well, guess what, it's _not!_" She wailed slightly, and Sally-Anne heard one of the toilets gurgling. She winced, but decided to risk one last question.

"I'm not invisible, right, Myrtle? You can see me, but can everyone else?"

"I would assume so. There's hardly any magic that _I _can think of that would bother hiding you from people _and _ghosts. Is that all you wanted-confirmation of your own existence? Oh, you're just like the others, coming in here and _mocking _my death!"

"Uh, I have to go now, Myrtle. It was nice seeing you, though, hope you feel happier soon. Bye, see you later!" Sally-Anne ran out of the bathrooms, hearing the sinks glugging and the toilets churning. Sally-Anne wasn't paying attention to where she was going, and ran into a Gryffindor boy.

"Whoa!" said the boy, who was actually Harry Potter. "Watch where you're going. You'll fall down the stairs running like that."

"Sorry!" Sally-Anne cried, running past him. "I just wanted to show the other Hufflepuffs that I exist! I _exist!_" She kept going, a big smile on her face. This was the happiest she had been in _years. _She existed, people could _see _her. This boy was proof, he had bumped into her. He had _acknowledged _her presence.

"What a weird girl," Harry mumbled to himself, before shrugging and walking off. Weird Hufflepuff girls were _not _his problem. Although, now that he thought about it...had Harry ever even _seen _this girl around Hogwarts before? She didn't seem familiar. He'd have to investigate...later. When he had more __


	33. Dorea Black: Young Ballerina

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon, for the category 'purple, positive' (write about the Blacks.)**_

….

Dorea Anne-Louise Black stood in position, ignoring her screaming muscles. She could hear the heavy breathing of her instructor, Madame Westgarth, as the woman came very close, hovering over Dorea. She liked to call Madame Westgarth "_Frau Drache_" because of the way she would huff and wheeze. It was an attempt to keep Dorea distracted, and it usually worked-but not today. Today, she was focused. Intense, and fully alert to only the way her body moved.

Dorea could see her own slim figure in the mirror, her eyes following every foot step she took, every movement of her arm, every turning of her head. She focused on making her every move precise, every turn in time. Her purple outfit made her seem innocent, but Dorea was not a little girl anymore. She was nine years old-she was learning how to be a ballerina. She felt the sharp rap of _Frau Drache_, her cane smacking Dorea's legs. She wanted to wince, wanted to scream. The bruises of days before still covered her body, pink and purple and red. And yet, she could not respond, could not scream out, because ballerinas suffered silently.

"Denken Sie, dass Sie gut genug sind, um zu tanzen? Denken Sie, dass Sie das verdienen? Nein, Sie tun nicht. Sie sind wertlos, Sie sind erbärmlich. Ihre Mutter sendet Sie an mich so ich kann Sie unterrichten, wie man wie eine wahre Ballerina tanzt. Wie ein Künstler. Sie, mein kleiner Idiot, sind keine Ballerina." (_Do you think you are good enough to dance? Do you think you deserve this? No, you do not. You are worthless, you are pathetic. Your mother sends you to me so I can teach you how to dance like a true ballerina. Like an artist. You, my little idiot, are no ballerina._) The words of words of _Frau Drache _were harsh and cruel, but they are true. She was _not _a ballerina, not yet. But one day, she would be.

She has to be the best, had to train very hard on a daily basis. Hours and hours every day go into practicing, because Mother wanted her to dance. Mother wanted her to be famous as a ballerina, so that Dorea was known throughout the world. And when Mother wanted something, she _got it_. No matter how much it hurt Dorea, she would continue dancing, if only to make Mother happy. It was her duty, after all, as a daughter. A daughter follows her mother's demands, doesn't she? Every last one-no matter how ridiculous.

For now, she enjoyed dancing. For now, she could go to bed every night, aching, but happy. Because every day, she got a little bit better, a little bit stronger. It hurt, it made her sore all over, yes-but it was worth it to see herself, so pretty in the mirrors. So pretty, as she spun gracefully, her tutu spinning with her. She danced for her mother, but also for herself. But, what would she do when the day came that she no longer wished to dance?

But right then, holding her arms out and begging her muscles to stay upright-right then, she was happy. Things were going fine, she loved practicing, even if _Frau Drache _did yell at her, even if she came from practice in tears. She was..._fine. _Happy, more or less. As happy as she could possibly be, because at least she was doing something she enjoyed.

….

After practice, she went back upstairs to her room, feeling her muscles aching and groaning in protest. She was sore and bruised and tired. Four and a half hours of holding the same positions over and over. _(Pliés and __Retiré and __Cou-de-pied, sur les for ages, until she shook and begged for water.) _She wanted to cry as her feet touched the staircase, but she was a Black. Blacks were strong and emotionless. Even if they hurt.

"Good evening, Dorea," she heard her elder sister say quietly. Cassiopeia sat in her bedroom, rubbing lotion into her hands. Dorea danced, Cassiopeia played the violin. Together, the two of them were very talented, putting on shows for Mother and Father's guests. But Cassiopeia, who was fourteen now, went to Hogwarts during most of the year. Rarely did Dorea have her musician to keep time and play music while she danced. (It wasn't nearly as fun alone.) However, for now, it was June and Cassiopeia was home. "Would you like to relax on the bed?" the older girl asked, patting the quilt next to her. Dorea smiled, nodding.

"Good evening, Cassiopeia." Dorea said, coming into the bedroom. She flopped down, quite ungracefully, onto Cassiopeia's bed, feeling the wooden boards creak underneath her. She sighed, feeling her stiff muscles relax. "Thank you for inviting me in. _Frau Drache _has been especially harsh this week. She must be very angry, because she yells at me all the time."

"You have been gone all day, Dorea. You look exhausted-I hope _Frau Drache _did not have you working too hard. How long have you practiced today? Three hours? Four?"

"Four and a half," Dorea said proudly, looking up at her sister. Though she hurt all over, she had learned several new sequences in the dance that _Frau Drache _was teaching her. That in itself was reward enough.

"And yet you will go back tomorrow and practice again?" Cassiopeia asked, sounding shocked. "Why do you allow her to make you practice for so long? Why do you not tell Mother that you dance for too long, that it hurts you?"

"I am not in so much pain that I can not dance," Dorea said firmly. "Why would I ask Mother to make me dance less when I do not _want _to? I _want _to dance all day, Cassiopeia, even if it does hurt."

"You are being ridiculous, Dorea. You are going to wear yourself out soon and then there will trouble with _Frau Drache_. Please, I am worried for you. Ask Mother to shorten your lessons. I do not want you getting hurt. I do not want to see my only sister collapse because her legs no longer carry her. You will only wear yourself out doing this."

"Calm down, Cassiopeia. I am fine. I am a _dancer_-it's what we do. We dance, even when it hurts. We dance when we're in pain, and we dance when we are sad. I am a dancer. It is a part of who I am."


	34. Fay Dunbar: Why did you get to leave?

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon for the category 'blue, negative' (write about someone feeling down). This came to me as I was sitting on my swing set, thinking. Helpful things, swing sets. **_

_**Warning, mentions of suicide. **_

….

Her parents were arguing again. She didn't even know what it was about-she didn't care. All she knew was that they were screaming, and there were things crashing around. She could hear her mother's cold voice speaking, and her father's harsh, angry voice. She hated when they yelled, when they fought. She hated the way the house felt when they were fighting, and the long hours afterward. The silence that seeped through the house.

Fay slipped out her window, dropping down into the grass of the backyard. It was cold, especially for August, and she had no jacket. But still, Fay did not shiver, because she was too busy blocking out the words inside to notice the cold.

She hated when they argued. It made everything in the house feel off, and the very careful balance had been so terribly tipped. They were probably arguing about the same things as usual: the fact that Mum hadn't come home once this week, or the fact that Dad had been spending too much time with his assistant, or maybe it was just something stupid, like someone had forgotten to do the dishes. Maybe they were arguing about how to handle the situation with Forrest.

_Forrest. _

Forrest had been Fay's older brother, a seemingly happy boy who was going to be a Seventh Year Hufflepuff. His teachers had talked about his talent, saying he showed plenty of promise. He hadn't been the most popular, or the most athletic, or the most smartest; he was just _Forrest_, this normal, easy-going guy that everyone liked. And now, Forrest was dead. Shot, by his own gun.

"_If I ever go out, I'm doing it in style. With a bang." _

He had certainly died with a bang. A bang that had left blood on the carpet and a hole in Fay's heart. She was twelve and her brother was dead. She wasn't sure how to deal with that. It had been a mere month ago, just a few days into the summer holidays. Fay had been the only one home at the time, because Mum was working and Dad was who-knows-where.

_Fay had even heard the bang, but not really processed it, sitting outside and enjoying the sunshine, the freedom of summer. She hadn't quite connected it to the sound of a gun, because she hadn't even been aware her brother had a gun. (He didn't-Forrest borrowed the gun off a friend, for a 'hunting trip with Dad'.) The only reason she even figured out what happened was because she had gone back inside to get a snack and noticed the odd stains on the sitting room floor. _

Fay shook her head, reminding herself to stay away from the past. The past was only full of tears and pain. The present, though, seemed to be heading on the same path. Her parents seemed to argue every day that they were together, and she had begun counting down the days until she could go back to Hogwarts. Just a week left now, a week until she would safe, far from the screaming.

"_You ass!" _She heard her mother yelled from inside, and Fay cringed. She hate, hate, _hated _when they fought. The pain in her chest was squirming and twisting as she walked through the backyard, looking for her Beater's equipment. Fay had always enjoyed Quidditch, and wanted to be a Beater one day. Every time she felt angry or tight, she would come outside and grab a few of the charmed large rubber balls to fly at her. (The ones that Forrest had charmed for her years ago, back when he was a helpful big brother.) A few hours of smacking the balls away as far as she could always made her feel better.

Working her muscles like this, concentrating completely on the task at hand, kept her brain from focusing on the problems of her life. _She was too young for the Quidditch team, Dad was cheating on Mom, her parents wouldn't stop arguing, Cocoa the cat was old and dying, Forrest was dead. _None of that mattered when all she could focus on was the _smack, smack, smack _of rubber against her bat.

One more week. One more week until Hogwarts. One more week until she could go back to school and see her friends-especially Emma Vane, her best friend in the entire world. One more week, and then she would have to face the questions, the looks of pity, the advice on how to get over the fact that her brother was _dead_.

_Flump_. The ball had zipped past her, hitting the fence. She ground her teeth together, swearing. _Focus, idiot. You need to focus. C'mon, pay attention. Ignore everything else. _She was trying to ignore it all, so desperately trying. And yet, that didn't seem to be keeping the tears from streaming down her face. She was crying, and it was like someone had pushed some button, because she couldn't _stop_, no matter how many times her brain told her to _grow up!_ Her head was hurting as she sank to her knees, the bat falling from her hands silently. She looked up at the sky, towards the dimly lit stars. Her eyes were blurry with tears, but she could still make out the stars. Forrest had loved stars, always mentioning the names of every single one he could point out, making up stories about them.

_Why you, Forrest? Why did you get to leave, huh? Why did you get to die and leave me behind with all this mess? Don't you think I'm suffering, too? Don't you think _I'm _in pain, too? I still have to deal with Mum and Dad and all the awkward looks. Why did you get a free pass from life? It's not _fair!

She didn't even know why he'd done it. He had seemed so _happy _all the time, and even now, she couldn't see a single reason why he had killed himself. Why had he taken his own life-it just wasn't fair!

Fay curled up into a ball, feeling the grass beneath her, and she _cried. _


	35. Nymphadora Tonks: Anna the Doll

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon, for the category 'purple, negative' (write about someone Pre-Hogwarts). This is the ever lovely Tonks. As a little girl. Because I can!**_

_**Sorry it's been a few days...well, weeks, I've been doing all my stuff on my phone, since I'm having laptop problems. As always, I don't own any recognisable characters. **_

...

Her favorite toy as a child was a little cloth dolly that someone-she didn't remember who, exactly-had given her one day. It might have been a birthday present or a Christmas present; she didn't really know or care. All she recalled was being handed the little cloth doll, and looking at it with awe. She had only been three or four at the time, and this was her first doll. It had blonde hair, tied into two curly braids. The doll-she has decided to call it Anna after a character in her favorite book-had bright green eyes and light freckles and she loved it.

Anna the doll was eerily beautiful in the way that only a doll can be-inhumanly beautifully perfect. Prettier than the other doll Nymphadora had, the one who had been made to look like Nymphadora; it had short brown hair and brown eyes that everyone called beautiful (just like her), but they really weren't. _She _just wasn't pretty in the traditional sense-even a four year old who didn't care what anyone else thought could figure out they weren't exactly _eye catching. (_Not that it mattered to Nymphadora; it didn't, not the way it would in ten years.) And the doll who liked just like her-she was planning on tossing it as soon as possible. She had a _beautiful _doll now.

Besides, Nymphadora could cheat-she could _change _the way she looked. Mummy aaid what she could do was special and rare-most of the other children were not like her._"You are different, Nymphadora. You have magic, but its more than just that-you are a Metamorphagus. That means you can change your appearance. And people might not like it if you dk that all the time, so we're going to keep this pir little secret, okay? but you can still change how you look at home, in private. Okay?" _She did this all the time, laughing as she changed her appearance. Nymphadora, growing her hair longer or shorter as she pleased. She could make herself blonde or ginger or any colour she could think of. Nymphadora often enjoyed confusing her parents by changing her look every few days, but they always seemed to quickly figure out that it was still _her _and not some other, strange child running around their home.

"Look, Daddy!" she cried, holding the doll up to show her father, Ted Tonks. The man smiled, scooping her up into his lap. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered into his ear, "I've named it Anna, Daddy. I've named her Anna."

"That is a beautiful name for a beautiful doll," Ted told her. "She's almost as pretty as my little girl here, but I know nothing is as pretty as little Dora, right?" He kissed her forehead and set her down on the ground. Nymphadora wiggled from his grasp, skipping towards maher mother. She grinned and closed her eyes, concentrating. Her normally stick brown hair grew longer and lighter; she grew blonde curls and her eyes changed from brown to bright green.

"Guess who I am, Mummy." She said, patting her mother's leg. Andromeda looked down briefly at the blonde girl and nodded. She gave her daughter an absent-minded smile and went back to her papers. "Mummy, you aren't even paying attention! Look at me! Look at Anna! Don't you think we look pretty, Mummy? Don't you? Daddy think so, don't you, Daddy?"

"Of course, Dora." said Ted, getting to his feet with a sigh. "I'm going to make sandwiches. Want one, Dora?"

"Yes!" the little girl said, her head bobbing with fascination. "And can you make tea and bring some of those cookies Mummy and I made yesterday? Ooh..." She stopped to think, her little gace scrunching up in concentration. "We could have a picnic in the garden! Don't you think that's a lovely idea, Mummy?" She glanced at her mother and frowned. Her mother was buried in her papers, too busy to even look up at Nymphadora. "Mummy! I _said _don't you think it's a lovely idea to have a picnic outside? It's ever so sunny, and we hardly ever do anything together anymore. That's what Daddy said, that we don't do anything. I want to do something with you."

"That's nice, dear." Andromeda replied, not looking up from her papers this time when she spoke. She waved absently at her daughter, who seemed to wilt and her smiled faded away. "Whatever you want, dear, we'll do that, alright? Just, not _now__, _baby girl. I'm busy with work. Later, alright. Whatever you want to do, we'll do it. _Later._"

Nymphadora frowned, swiping at years that she hadn't expected. Everything seemed to always be pushed back to _later, _which only seemed to be another way of saying "_not going to happen_". She hated hearing later, because Mummy never meant it. She just wanted to go outside with her mother and play. Why did that have to wait until _later? _

...

"Mummy must hate me, Anna. She must _really _hate me, because she never wants to do anything with me anymore. I must be a really bad girl, Anna. Do you think I'm a bad girl, Anna?" Nymphadora made the little blonde head shake back and forth, and she smiled. "Thank you, Anna. I know I'm not a bad girl...I'm _not. _I'm a _good girl. _Why doesn't Mummy see that I'm not a bad girl? Why doesn't she want to play with me?"

Anna shrugged, and made sighing noises, which Nymphadora repeated, shaking her own head, which had gone back to its usual stick-brown self. "At least _you and Daddy _will always love me no matter what. Right, Anna?"

"I love you very much," said Anna in a high, squeaky voice, and Nymphadora leaned over to hug her.

"I love you, too, Anna."

...

_**One last thing: March 30th, boys and girls. March 30th. BBC or BBCA (like me). March 30th-you know what I mean.**_


	36. Marietta Edgecombe: I tried to tell you

**_Written for the 'Colour Competition' by the Empress Empoleon, for the category 'turquoise, negative' (write about someone untrustworthy, or being let down in the romantic sense) I feel the following story qualifies for both._**

_..._

_"The trouble with lies_

_When you tell them you still got to sell them_

_With the look in your eyes_

_Oh, that's the trouble with lies_

_As far as I'm concerned_

_With the lessons I've learned_

_I'm determined to try and survive_

_Without lies."_

_-Trouble with lies by Adam Again_

...

She feels terrible about all of this. Awful, really awful; the kind of guilty feeling that gnaws on her and turned her bitter. Marietta, bitter to the very end. (She was bitter, but not guilty. That was a lie, something she had told Cho.)

How was she supposed to know that Granger charmed her bloody sheet? How was Marietta supposed to know that Cho would be so disappointed in Marietta. She knew it was wrong-of course she did. _That _at least, was blatantly obvious.

She had been helping, hadn't she? Hadn't she merely been correcting flaws in the school. Correcting wrongs and bringing traitors to justice. So...why was Marietta the only one who suffered? The only one to still bear the scars of her biggest mistake. (What an idiot she was!)

Everyone else was a war hero, a brave soldier fighting against the Death Eaters. And what Marietta? A _sneak. _A person who could never, ever again be trusted. Even Cho (beautiful, sweet Cho) had looked at Marietta with disgust and asked her "Why?"

_Why did you do that? How could you betray us like that? Our friends?_

Cho didn't seem to realise that the only friend Marietta had (the only one she needed) was Cho herself.

Marietta didn't really feel as if she had _done _anything wrong. Certainly, if she had, she would feel terribly guilty, like a knife twisting in her gut. But Marietta couldn't help but think that _she _had been right and Potter had been wrong.

(Cho couldn't be wrong. She was _never _wrong_. _Merely confused is all.)

The year after, when Marietta had eventually given up an resigned herself to life as it was, (scarred as she was; Cho would _never_ love her now) she would sometimes be able to forget. She could sometimes go entire hours without recalling the scars across her face, which still bore that awful word.

_SNEAK._

How wonderful she felt in those hours when she was almost normal (almost pretty). But all it took was a mirror or a window, or some little First Year's horrified glance. That's all it took to remember.

_(You are ugly.)_

Because she had betrayed Cho, because she had thought it better to protect her own mother. Because she had simply wanted to do what she thought was right.

_(That's not true, and you know it. You were aware it was wrong from the beginning. You knew what this would do to Cho.)_

She had apologised, she had begged Cho to come back. She had never ever _(ever) _meant for _this_ to happen. She hadn't meant to hurt Cho this way. But, then, she hadn't expected Cho to her her so much, either. Sure, Marietta knew that Cho had loved_ (loved? Could it really be considered love? Why couldn't it just be a fruitless crush? A moment of sexual exploring?) _that stupid, undeserving Cedric Diggory.

And she also knew that Cho kind of, sort of might (Merlin, Marietta hoped it died out soon, a stupid, foolish crush that would leave Cho nowhere) like Harry Potter.

(_Did I do something wrong? Did I say something? I'm sorry, Cho. I didn't mean to hurt you. I only did what I did to help you-because I love you._)

Except the only thing she seemed to have done was push Cho away. Pushed her best friend away to yet another guy. What could she do to make Cho see the truth?

(_Can't you see we belong together? You and me, to the very end? Why are you saying no?_)

Cho had defended her for as long as she could. Cho argued against Potter and the others, saying it was just a mistake, that Marietta hadn't meant it. That they simply needed to _forgive and forget._Except Cho seemed to be the only one to forgive and the only one who could not forget.

Marietta gave no explanation, offered no reason why she had betrayed Potter and the others. Cho asked for one, but Marietta could never find an answer that sounded quite right.

(_I did it to keep you all to myself. I did it because I love you, and I wanted you to love me back._)

She had tried to find the words, tried to explain the truth, but Cho seemed to have forgotten. Forgotten, wrapped up in the arms of Michael Corner. _Damn him! _No matter what she did, Marietta seemed incapable of making Cho love her the way she wanted.

The way she needed Cho to love her.

Was she merely foolishly holding on to the wishes of a silly girl? Was she truly being stupid, wishing Cho would love her? Wishing the others would trust her? Was there anything left her for her to try, so she could fix this mess. Marietta seemed to be the only one left stuck where she was, unable to move forward.

Unable to get past others' hatred, and her hatred of herself. She was ugly. She was not to be trusted, not to be loved. She had deserved what she's gotten. Right?

(That's what everyone else said, at least. Sneaks deserved to be punished, after all.)

...

"Cho, I just wanted to say...I love you."

"I love you too, Marietta. You're my best friend. My only _true_ friend, it seems sometimes. I can always trust you."

Anger sparked in Marietta's eyes, and she shook her head. "Don't say that. Don't _say that! _I can't be trusted. Just ask anyone. I'm a sneak." She pointed at her face.

"Oh no, don't say that." Cho exclaimed, rushing over to console Marietta. "You're so lovely, Marietta. They just don't understand is all. But I do."

"I really _do _love you, Cho. As more than a friend. I've loved you for ages."

"Oh. Oh, Marietta. I...I never noticed. Marietta..._I'm so _sorry."

She had never hated anyone more strongly than in that moment. Because she could see that she truly deserved _nothing_. She deserved _no one. _

SNEAK. That's all she was. Someone to never be trusted, never be loved.

SNEAK.

...

**_Here's to getting a working computer back soon. I have a temporary process on my phone where I wrote a hundred words or so on my email account (that way I can access it wherever I want) and then I leave it for however long (a day, an hour, a week) I choose to. Eventually, I come back an review it, figure out what to fix, then I connect it with the rest of the story. It's slow, but at least it works. Sort of._**


	37. Eileen Snape: Not Fit

_Written for the 'Colour Competition' by Empress Empoleon, for the category 'pink, positive' (write about a mother in the Harry Potter series). I feel that, while this is written within the positive, not all mothers are fit for their duties as, well, mothers. And, while I love Severus (we do, after all, share a birthday, 38 years apart) he did not seem to have a good childhood...good parents. _

_A good mother. _

...

_"Some people aren't fit for being a mother," _

_"When one combines motherhood with hatred of the father, all you achieve is an unhappy child." _

_"You cannot stand by and watch a mother cry. To do so means you have no heart," _

...

Eileen watched the slice of beef sizzle and pop, feeling the heat against her face and hands. The kitchen was intensely hot and she had long ago lost most of the hair from her arms, burnt off from years and years of cooking meals for her husband and her son. She frowned, glancing down at herself, taking in her arms were brown from the constant smoke and heat, though her face was still unnaturally pale. She sighed, flipping a slice over, watching the pink crackle and darken, as she scowled at the walls.

(After all, who else was there for her to be angry at? She could not raise her hand against Tobias, because he could always hit back with so much more strength. She could not hit Severus. He was just a boy, innocent and scared. One day, Eileen always promised herself. One day she would escape with Severus. Though that day had not yet come to her, nor did it seem likely to ever come. She was thirty-five now, set in her ways with a six year old son and a marriage that had been doomed before she even said "I do".)

Eileen had never been a pretty girl (when she was fifteen, her own father had once compared her to the likes of a pale monkey) and she had never desired to be married or a mother. She had been too focused on achieving at school, too focused on being the _intelligent_ daughter, because she could not be a pretty one. She had never really felt any desire to be _wanted, _mostly because knew it was unlikely; so Eileen had jumped at the chance of a life spent together with the first man to ever call her beautiful. Even if they both knew he'd never meant it.

Meeting Tobias-_marrying_ Tobias-had been a mistake. A scary, frightening, life-changing mistake that she would never wish on anyone. She had simply wanted to _escape_ from the Pureblood fanatics in her family; she wanted to run away from the marriage her father was so obviously arranging for her. Tobias had called her beautiful, he had called her smart. He had claimed he respected her. And he had, at least, in the beginning. Before she officially took his last name, and moved into his house, and had his children. _Child, _because she refused to bring another child into such a rotten situation as this.

She did not love Tobias. She absolutely did not love Severus, who looked just like his father, and would eventually grow up to be just like him. He was stubborn and rude and cruel. She hated that little boy, hated having to see Tobias' creation, which had come out of _her. _That child, the one she was supposed to raise and console, and do it without hatred clearly written in her eyes.

Because, as much as she hated to think it, she _did _hate Severus, because he looked just like Tobias. The little boy who had so much potential to just become a copy of his father, pressuring her to his will and abusing her like she was nothing. Eileen wanted to love her son, but it was hard to find a reason to love him for, when all she saw was her father, (_who insulted her and called her names, who said she was a useless whore, especially for marrying a Muggle_) when all she saw was Tobias (_who abused her and hit her and told her he only married her for a son. Tobias, who said that she had no purpose in life, as a woman_). Severus, who had the potential of growing up to be like every other man she had ever met in her life.

How could she love something like that?

Her own memories of her mum were distant and fuzzy, childish half-dreams of a dark-haired woman who would slap her and twist her wrist when she misbehaved. A harsh voice that accused her of stealing and lying. Her clearest memory was of standing over her mother's tombstone, feeling happy because one of her abusers was gone, though her father and her brothers were back at the house, waiting for her. How was she supposed to be a good mother when she had never been taught how to be one?

Eileen wanted to give up. She wanted to leave Tobias and Severus behind, wanted to go back to being a witch with potential. She wanted to be happy doing something _she _wanted to do, instead of submitting to the wills of others, as she'd done for thirty years. Always doing as she was told. Why did she have to be so submissive and weak, never trying to fight back? That would change one day, soon. She would strike back, and she would live her own life.

One in which she was free from her tormenters. One in which she no longer had to struggle at pretending like everything was normal. That she could handle life, because that wasn't true. She had failed as a witch, as a person, as a wife. As a mother.

She wasn't fit to be a mother, not now, not ever.

...

Severus had been sitting in his room for hours, waiting for his mother to return. His room was dark, and he was pretty sure there was some sort of monster in the closet, but Mummy and Daddy had always berated him in the past for crying out. He just wanted someone to come in and hold him, bringing kisses and promises to make everything better. But his father would _never _kiss Severus, or console him, and his mother…his mother was cold and distant. His mother had never seemed like all the other mothers.

His mother didn't seem to quite be _fit _as a mother. Not now, not ever.

...

_**Sorry I didn't post this sooner. I know I shouldn't let my emotions get in the way of my writing, but I just wasn't in the best of moods this week, all things considered. Fan fiction is my...well, almost my life. It's one of the few things I seem to do well-writing, I mean-and I know this is a place of tolerance, as best as we can try to make it be. The real world...it just isn't. They don't understand.**_

_**Also, I will be working on a Merlin story, so updates for...well, everything, might be a little less frequent.**_

_**AND I GOT A NEW COMPUTER WHICH IS AWESOME AND I HAVE A COMPUTER! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!**_


	38. Morag MacDougal: A Child No Longer

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon, for the category 'magenta, positive' (write something post-war). Now, technically, I've already done a post-war, (see Alicia Spinnet) but I really do like to talk about the….psychological aspects of post-traumatic incidents, such as losing your friends to a cold-hearted bastard with crazy ideals. So, you've seen a borderline suicidal reaction….what other sides exist? **_

….

The first few hours…the first few days, really, she felt only numbness. There was only the vague memories of events that she wasn't even sure had happened. Had Colin Creevey really been slain right in front of her, a Death Eater hitting him with a horrible spell she didn't recognise? Had Susan Bones really run by, screaming about giants, bleeding from a gash in her forehead? Where had she been when Potter confronted You-Know-Who? Certainly, Morag didn't remember _that _part, though she did seem to recall the screams of joy when it was over, people celebrating and laughing, because it was all over. Because they were safe, and everything would be fine, soon.

_Even though it certainly didn't feel that way. _

Had she celebrated? Had she drank with her friends and joked about how lucky they were to survive? Exchanging stories of who they had fought, what spells they had said. Had she really shaken hands with her _fellow classmates_, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, who were now the second and third most famous people in Britain? She didn't recall doing anything, except for shaky memories that told her she had done all of these things. It was like the morning after a night at the bar, when all she had was pain in her body and strange recollections of things that she _hoped _hadn't really ever happened.

Morag spent the first week after just sitting. Originally, she sat with her friends at Hogwarts, talking, and eating, and helping to repair the school. Later, when she was told there was little else she could do, she went home to the flat that her sister owned, and sat at the table, or in bed, thinking. The fridge was empty, laundry sat undone. Her sister, Isobel, offered to bring by food friends and information, but Morag turned all offers of socialization down, still too busy trying to process exactly what had been going on. What she had been involved in not that long ago.

_Her wand, pointed at a young man. He was pale, __with __brown hair and blue eyes, and was probably only twenty-five or so. She almost felt pity for him, except for the hatred in his eyes. He looked at her with disgust, as if she were a filthy mongrel. _

Morag eventually got up from bed, her hair tangled and her voice raspy from lack of use. The calendar-which Isobel always dutifully updated each day, ripping off the old sheet every night before bed-said that it was May 17th. She hadn't left her room in ten days, and she probably looked a mess. But her head hadn't been working right before, not that it was quite back to normal just yet. At least she could think clearly now, more or less, and seemed to be emotionally functioning. Before May 17th, she hadn't been sure whether or not it was worth it, getting up. Apparently it was still worth it.

"_Do not kill," Neville had said. "Under no circumstances should you kill." He had looked around at them all, boring the single instruction into their heads. _

"_What if they try to kill us?"_

"_Then…only then…" he sighed, sounding tired. "Only then, may you even consider killing. We are not murders. We are not killers, not like them. Understood?" _

She made herself a bowl of cereal, taking in the fact that the milk seemed to expire. There was a stack of newspapers from several weeks ago all the way up to yesterday. The clock on the wall read 6:47. A.M., presumably, considering the sun hadn't yet risen, and she could hear the sounds of Isobel-at least, she hoped it was Isobel-in the other bedroom, still asleep.

The flat was colder than she would have liked, but Morag wasn't entirely sure where her robe was, and she felt too scared to go back into her bedroom. What if she just laid down in bed and never got back up? She wasn't positive that _wouldn't _happen, since half of her still just wanted to sleep forever. She couldn't get the screams out of her head.

_She never would_.

"Morag?" It was Isobel, with her pretty brown hair and her large green eyes. She was several inches shorter than Morag, and slightly thicker, but never ever seemed to upset her. She was perpetually happy, optimistic where Morag usually saw gloom. Morag blinked, her vision swimming as she frowned at her sister. "It's nice to see you, Morag. I was beginning to think you'd never come out."

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Morag was being rude, she knew that; yet the pounding in her head, and the screams in her ears-the screams that would never go away-made her feel cranky and grumpy. Isobel didn't seem to mind though, as she walked past Morag towards the pantry. She gave her younger sister a small smile, but didn't seem to mind waiting for answers.

"Enjoying breakfast?" Isobel asked, nodding towards the empty bowl on the table. Morag shrugged, looking out the window. She ran fingers through her tangled hair, wondering why she had bothered to get up. She felt so tired and everything seemed like it would never get better. She could hear that Isobel was walking behind her, carrying her own bowl.

"You can always talk to me, Morag. I'm here, you know, in case you ever need something."

"I know." Morag said shortly, not looking behind her. She could see cars out in the street, little people walking through the streets, as if everything was normal. As if the world as Morag knew it had not collapsed around her. Everything was different now, yet none of the Muggles seemed to have noticed.

"If anything is wrong….I am willing to spend as much time as you want…Padma said to say hello. She wanted to stop by earlier, but you weren't quite in the right state for guests. You still aren't, not really, but at least you're pretty much aware of what's going on. I came into your room earlier this week and you didn't seem to have noticed anything. It was crazy. I'm glad to have you back, Morag."

"Isobel?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you give me some time alone? I just...I'm not quite ready to talk yet. Not about anything."

"Alright."

….

_She held the wand above him, begging him to please just give her a reason to leave him alone. Please, please, please show that he still had some decency in him, so she wouldn't have to do anything. _

"_Whore," he snarled, enjoying her tears, even with the wand pointed at his head. "Whore…slut…Muggle lover….you're a betrayer to your kind, a blood traitor…how dare you call yourself a Pureblood. You slut."_

"_Stupefy!" she yelled, feeling guilty the whole time. This was the first person she had cursed. It would not be the last. She needed to get over the rush of emotion coursing through her body. She needed to focus on…on staying alive. _

_Morag stood up, anger in her eyes. How dare they come attack her home? How dare they? They would all pay. _

And they had all paid, paid with their lives and the lives of their friends. But, so had she, and she wasn't sure she would ever recover. If it was possible to recover from such a tragedy.

"Hey, Padma?" she said hesitantly into the phone, her voice trembling. "It'd be nice to see you again. I know it's been a while but…I'm better now."

"I'll be right over, Morag."

"Thanks."

….

_**Isobel MacDougal is, according to the HP wiki, possibly the same person as Morag MacDougal, but I like to think Isobel and Morag are two separate girls who are…sisters and stuff. **_


	39. Lavender Brown: My Sweetheart

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon for the category 'magenta, negative' (write about someone who is clingy in a relationship). There wasn't anyone else who really came to mind other than Lavender Brown. **_

_**Aren't you glad I now have a laptop so I can update on a regular basis? I certainly am….it means more chapters and more happiness. Yay! I mean, I've had this computer since the 6**__**th**__**, but I just can't contain my happiness. Yay! Come on, celebrate with me, because now is a happy time. For me, at least. I hope you're all having a happy time as well, though. **_

….

Lavender wasn't entirely sure what _she _had done to catch the attention of Ronald Weasley. Had she looked at him invitingly and he'd finally fallen for her? Had she worn the right clothes or said the right things? Or had it all just been an accident, just a fluke? Certainly, Weasley had finally gotten a brain in his head and figured out that they _belonged together_. They were made for each other, like Romeo and Juliet, or Paris and Helen.

(Sure, both of those relationships had failed, but everyone knew that they had the kind of relationship that was destined. The kind of relationship that would be written about, a piece of history. They were _meant to be_. The world had been trying to push them together for years, and now they were together. Together _forever_, because nothing could ever break them up. Nothing could break up true love.)

Lavender's family and friends had always said she was the over-dramatic type. She took life in general much too seriously, and saw too much where there was nothing. Her parents liked to joke that Lavender had always blown things out of proportion, even as a young girl. They had no idea where she had gotten her ideas of grandeur, seeing as both of them were fairly level, realistic people, but she didn't care. She didn't see herself as over-dramatic.

She was _meant _to be with Ron. Why didn't anyone else seem to see that? Why was _she _the only one who understood that Ron was _the one_? As in, _the one _she would love forever, and marry, and they would be life partners. Ron would never leave her, no matter what anyone else said. No matter who tried to stop them, she would never leave Ron. You did not _leave your life partner. _

Ron understood her in a way no one else did. He _got _her, he understood that she was a physical person. They didn't talk much-mostly, it was a lot of passion kissing that made her bubble inside-but neither one of them were very good with words. Their tongues and their hands explained exactly how they felt.

Lavender would _never _want to leave Ron, and he couldn't leave her. They were _meant _to be together forever. Nothing would ever happen, not ever.

….

Lavender held out the necklace towards Parvati, letting her take a look. It was gold with a gold chain, and read '_My Sweetheart_', since that was what Ron was. _Her sweetheart. Her love. _They were in the jewellery store in Hogsmeade, which seemed mostly directed towards gifts for girls, but the woman running the store _swore _up and down that the teensy section that the girls were now squeezed into was all for _males. _There were mostly watches, but Lavender didn't want to give Ron a _watch_, that seemed to average for someone so special.

"What do you think? He'll love it, won't he?" She said, not noticing the slightly disgusted look on her best friend's face. "It's so cute! He's going to wear it forever, even when we're old. He'll wear it when we graduate and when we marry…..ooh, I can't _wait _to give it to him! I only wish I could see his face when he opens the box."

"Yeah…" Parvati said, her nose still wrinkled, though she now wore a slight smirk. "I'd like to see _that _as well." She stifled a giggle as Lavender turned to place the necklace back into the box.

"Come on, Vati, I want to see how much this is worth. _This _is absolutely what I am getting for my Won-Won." Lavender walked away with the box, as Parvati made gagging noises behind her, barely able to keep a straight face. The two of them walked up to the woman running the store, who was inspecting a nice piece of jewellery, a bracelet that seemed to be made with some sparkling stone that neither of them recognised.

"What is that?" Lavender asked curiously, pointing at the bracelet. "It's so pretty."

"It's dragon scales." The woman said sharply, stuffing the bracelet into a box behind her. She turned to look back at them, her eyes cold and calculating. "Have you found something yet?"

"Yeah," Lavender said, setting the necklace box on the counter. "How much is it?"

….

She walked out happier, knowing she had gotten the one thing her love would want. He would love the necklace, and, therefore, love _her_. Not that he didn't already, but this would only ensure his love, because he knew she was not afraid to be the initiator, the bringer of gifts, instead of waiting around for gifts.

She knew that he would appreciate it, because Ron understood her. He knew that everything she did-everything she said or wore or even ate-was for _him_. She was his, forever, and all she ever wanted to do was make him happy. She wanted to make Ron as happy as he made her.

Parvati didn't quite get it. Granger and Potter certainly didn't get it at all, the fact that Ron was _hers_, now and forever. They mocked her, but they just didn't understand that there was no stopping true love. There was no preventing destiny, fate, not when it had been sitting behind you in Transfiguration since First Year. No, Ron didn't need to spend as much time with his _old _friends, because he had Lavender now.

Life was complete for both of them, now. They had found each other, their true love. Ron would never leave her, he couldn't. He _wouldn't. _Right? He would never do that, would he?

….

_**For the record, I think 'soul mates' and 'life partners' is a little ridiculous. Yes, I do have a strange pessimistic view on love and marriage (even, or maybe especially, for a fifteen year old girl). I feel that 'love' is nothing more than a combination of attraction and hormones. I don't think 'true love' is a real thing, and I don't think anyone's mission in life is finding 'the one'. There is not a 'one' for you. You simply find someone who doesn't annoy the hell out of you, maybe they're intelligent and physically attractive, and then you guys…I dunno, make out or something? Marry? **_

_**By the way, yes, my parents ARE married, so that has nothing to do with my ideas on love. (They've been more or less happily married for nearly 19 years.) **_


	40. Petunia Dursley: Why her?

**Written for the 'Colors Competition' by Empress Empoleon (I swear I'm almost done with them.) for the category 'brown, negative' (Write about something unexpected happening). So, I have to ask: Has anything unexpecting ever happened to you? If so, what was the most unexpecting thing that has ever happened to you? Tell me in your review! (Yes, that was a terribly unsubtle hint to…you know…review…and stuff….) Because, if you don't review, the nargles will infest your brain. **

….

Things were normal at the Dursley home, and Petunia loved it that way. Dudley argued against eating everything and anything that wasn't candy, Vernon went to work and would come home with complaints about everything, and Petunia was preparing to go out so she could chat with the other mothers who lived in the neighbourhood around Privet Drive. That was one of the benefits of having a young child; being able to take Dudley to the park and setting him loose to play gave her the ability to chat with all the other mothers to hear the latest news. (It also wore Dudley out and made nap time easier, but she didn't want anyone to know that.)

Ever since her marriage to Vernon in 1978, things-life in general-had been pretty ordinary. Her day had a schedule and rarely ever seemed to veer off track. She could usually expect life to go a particular way, and there was no such thing as surprises. Life, certainly, was a lot more organised now that she didn't have to deal with worrying about her little sister (She-Who-Was-Not-Named-In-This-House) ever showing up and messing with her life. A large part of Petunia's time at secondary school had been hiding the secrets about the nastier parts of her life; the things no one could ever know about, not even Vernon.

That was the hardest part, lying to Vernon. Telling him that Lily had been accepted into a private school in Scotland-Petunia never told him what sort of private school it was-and that the two sisters had never been close. Saying that the Potter boy was a disturbed friend of hers from school, and he was working as a sort of guard for some person within the Ministry. (She also didn't mention which Ministry it was.)

For the most part, thankfully, her magic life and her normal life had rarely ever mixed after leaving her childhood home several years ago. There had been a few strange gifts she had received that had been quickly thrown out, but mostly the only connection Petunia still had to her little sister was the Christmas vases she sent to her sister every there and the thank you cards she got back. There was no tea every week in the parlor, no catching up on how the boys were growing up so quickly. (Petunia had a nephew just a month or so younger than Dudley that she had never met and never intended on meeting. It was one of the many things she had given up after leaving her family behind for something normal; she no longer wanted to associate with anyone like that, especially not a child that might hurt her son.)

No, Petunia Dursley's life was normal. Average, on schedule, entirely expected. There was nothing that could ever surprise her or shake up her settled life. Some might have called her lifestyle boring, but Petunia didn't mind boring in the slightest. Boring was safe, boring was calm, and never brought biting tea cups or boys with motorcycles into her house. With boring, she could claim that she was just like any other mum in Privet Drive-perfectly normal and absolutely not the older sister of a crazy witch. Life was normal at the Dursley house. It had to be. Normal and boring and average, just how she liked it.

At least, her life was average up until November 1st, 1981. That was the day that her entire life changed for the worse.

….

(November 1st, 1981)

There was no indication that her world had just ended. No clashing of cymbals, no torrential rain. Certainly, there was no fantastic, burning sign from the heavens, proclaiming: Everything is different now! You are not normal, and the entire world is about to find out! Maybe if there had been, she wouldn't have gotten up. She probably would have sent Vernon to get the milk, even if he complained and groaned. She absolutely would not have picked up a little boy off her doorstep and brought him inside.

But instead, she woke up to a crisp November 1st, with threats of snow on the telly, and a slight stomach ache from the chocolate she had eaten out of Dudley's basket. Vernon was still snoring away next to her as she groaned, stretching. Her eyes took a second to focus and Petunia reminded herself mentally to go to the dentist next week about the strange feeling in her wisdom teeth. Were they supposed to hurt? She didn't think so.

Petunia almost instinctively wandered over to the crib where Dudley slept, a happy, round baby. His cheeks were puffy and pink, and his blonde hair was a mess from several hours of restless sleep. Her son, who was now sixteen months old; her greatest treasure, her lovely little baby boy. Petunia couldn't have asked for a sweeter, cuter child. A normal, not-magic child.

Dudley was asleep, his thumb stuck in his mouth as he sighed quietly. His left foot spasmed in a little dream kick, and Petunia couldn't help but smile. Who else had this opportunity to raise such a wonderful child? Who else deserved such a wonderful child? She petted his cheek, then walked out the room, padding down the stairs into the kitchen.

They were out of milk, she noticed, opening the fridge. The clock on the wall said 5:50, and she wondered what on earth had woken her up at such an hour. Vernon wouldn't be getting up until 6:30, and usually, Petunia didn't wake up until after, when Dudley's cries of hunger woke her. She felt well-rested, though, and waking up earlier might give her a little more time in her day.

In retrospect, this was the first and only sign that her world had been changed forever. Waking up almost an hour before normal.

She could have some cereal by herself, maybe reconnect with the inner child by eating the frosted flakes, but cereal wasn't the normal breakfast food for her. Usually, she had an omelette and Vernon had pancakes. Those both required milk, which they did not have. Perhaps there was milk outside; often, the milkman liked to start early on his route so he could spend the rest of the day smoking-Petunia had seen him several times in his truck and contemplated turning him in.

She opened the front door, hoping to see several bottles of full milk that she could use. Petunia looked down at the doormat and shrieked. There _was _several glass bottles full of the white liquid, but there was also a small baby, wrapped up in blankets, sleeping on her doormat. He had dark hair and pale skin, and something seemed to be scratched into his forehead.

_A baby. A baby and a letter, on her doormat, where they did not belong. _

What was going on? Why was there an infant here? She bent down, picking up the letter, which was written on cream paper with green ink. It was addressed to her personally. _Petunia Dursley. _Addressed to her.

_This is your nephew….Harry James Potter….raise him as your own son….do not tell him what he is….do not leave him, do not give him away….he must stay with you until he is eleven…..your nephew, Harry…..your sister, Lily….James and Lily Potter….dead….dark wizards….people might be after him….keep him safe….Harry…._

No. No. _No._ Nononononononononononono…._No!_ This was not happening, not to her. This was ridiculous, this couldn't be happening. Petunia didn't want this, she had never wanted this. No. But she had to, didn't she? Her own nephew, settled on her doorstep. Her life had just changed forever, and she couldn't have been more heart broken. Why _her_?

Why her?

….

**I've been listening to Tobuscus (Toby Turner) while writing this. I wonder….is his voice infesting my writing? I hope not, because all I hear right now is him screaming at a creeper. Yeah, not something I want infesting my writing.**

**By the way, that is your word of the day: infest. You're welcome. Now, go and use it in your next story, okay? And remember to review about the most unexpecting thing that has ever happened to you. **

**(I might start doing that-posing questions every chapter.)**


	41. Verity: The Untold Story

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon for the category 'grey, positive' (write about someone unable to make up their mind about something or choose between two people). For the record, Verity is the assistant at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Book 6. Fred and George made some comment about how pretty she was, I think.**_

_**I just thought it would be a funny little idea…..you know, since we know nothing at all about Verity other than that she worked with the Weasley twins in 1996. And that she has a cool name and stuff. **_

….

When she was fifteen (going on sixteen), Verity Cariad was first introduced to the Weasley twins. Sure, she _knew _of them-everyone at Hogwarts knew about the rebellious twins who had defied Umbridge last year-but she had never talked to them. As a Ravenclaw, and three years younger than them, she hadn't had many opportunities to socialise outside of her circle of friends. They had been a sort of rumour even before the incident with Umbridge, but Verity hadn't really known who _the twins _were. She had probably passed them by several times in the hallways and never even noticed.

It had been by complete accident that she had even met them, a coincidence of being at the right place and the right time. In this case, a party over the summer at a fellow classmate's home. The party was meant to take place at the house of the house of recently graduated Hufflepuff, Jakobi Gaadstran, who was well known for holding crazy parties every summer. Verity was guaranteed to get at least a _little _drunk, and, even better, there was no one around to tell her what to do. Her mother didn't know about the yearly Gaadstran parties, and Verity hadn't bothered to tell her.

It was the summer before what was meant to be her Fifth Year and it was one of her last days as a free girl. On Monday, she was supposed to be working with her aunt, Brisen Malkin, at the clothing store in Diagon Alley. Verity had never been very interested in helping sew up people's clothes or pick out the right dress robes for them, but her mother had insisted she get a job and Aunt Brisen had conveniently needed a new assistant. Besides, Verity needed the money, and she thought that having a summer job might be a good source of income for the next year, especially when her mother was going to kick her out of the house.

(Mrs. Cariad didn't know it yet, but Verity didn't intend on going back to Hogwarts. She saw no purpose for herself at school. Most of the jobs that had been suggested for when she graduated bored her. Where were the fun jobs that involved lots of explosions and loud noises and weird smells? Where were the jobs for people like _her_?)

Verity had shown up with her best mates, Jasen and Emily, looking like any normal teenager in their jeans and ragged t-shirts. The only way anyone might have been able to tell these three teenagers weren't quite like most was the wands stuck in their pockets and the fact that Jasen was wearing a Weird Sisters shirt. Other than that, though, no one would have guessed they were three wizards going to a wizard's party.

The fifteen year old girl wore tight purple jeans, a Grateful Dead shirt that she had stolen out of her step-father's closet, and a pair of beat up Vans. Her usually blonde hair had been dyed with bits of brown and red, and her ears had multiple piercings. She felt a little over-dressed, but Jasen had called the outfit sexy, so she felt a little more comfortable wearing it. Walking between her tall friends, she looked like a twelve year old who was trying a bit too hard to fit in with her older friends. (But, it wasn't really Verity's fall she wasn't even five feet tall. _That _was her mother's fault.)

Verity was rather excited, as this was the first time she had ever actually been _invited _to an end-of-the-year party instead of having to crash it. She knew Jakobi would never have noticed a few extra guests here and there anyway, not with the swarms of people who showed up every year; besides, he never minded gate-crashers, especially if they brought Firewhiskey. But _this _year, Jakobi had personally invited her, and she felt really excited. More _grown up_, because she wasn't gate crashing-she was invited.

Jasen walked off almost immediately to fetch some drinks, and Emily quickly found some fellow classmates to talk to, leaving Verity to just hang around. She chatted with a fairly attractive Slytherin (Verity didn't care about a person's House as long as their heads were screwed on right) until he attempted to kiss her and she punched him. At that point, his girlfriend came back, and Verity knew it was time to disappear before she got into a fight.

As she slipped through the crowd-one of the only benefits of being smaller than everyone else-she accidentally bumped into another person. Verity stumbled, nearly falling over, and she heard him cry out as well, startled. When she looked up to see who she had run into, she saw a red-headed man, nearly six feet tall. He had a lop-sided grin that looked permanent and mischievous blue eyes. Verity had no idea who he was, and from the look of it, he didn't recognise her, either.

"Sorry," she gasped, blushing. The man wasn't all that cute-at least, she didn't think so-but he was wearing rather nice looking clothes, and she was worried she had run into some sort of well-off business man. (Though, why a business man would be at a Gaadstran party, she wasn't sure.) "I didn't see you and I was just trying to get away from this _girl_, and everyone's so tall, so it's sort of hard to see where I'm going and-"

"It's okay," the redhead said, laughing. "I should have been paying attention. After all, _you're _so short, it's hard to see you." Verity frowned, but the laughter in his face made her understand he was just joking. Good, she didn't want to get into any more fights tonight.

"Listen, I'm George Weasley." the man said, and Verity looked up at him, puzzled; she knew that name from somewhere, but she couldn't quite pin it.

"I'm Verity." she mumbled, still trying to figure out who he was.

"Verity, huh? How old are you, twelve? A little young for Jakobi Gaadstran, aren't you?"

"I'm fifteen, actually. I'm supposed to be a Fifth Year in August." she said, scowling. Verity hated it when people joked about young she looked.

"_Supposed _to be?"

"Yeah, I'm not going back in August-don't tell my mum, though."

George laughed, giving her another appraising glance. "Say…Verity, I happen to run a joke shop with my brother, Fred, in Diagon Alley. I was curious….maybe you'd be interested in working with us, since you won't be going to Hogwarts. We sell magical prank items and such; maybe you've heard of us, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? Brand new?"

_Oh Merlin_. He was _that _George Weasley? The George Weasley who had practically given Umbridge the finger as he flew away on his broomstick, never to be seen again?

"Um…." she glanced around the room, her head spinning. "When….when would I start?"

"Oh, probably in a week or so. We'd have to work out a contract, what to pay you, a place for you to stay. But it'd be a good job-we'd be nice to you and all. Besides, my brother says we've been needing an assistant. You seem like you'd be good for that sort of job. You've got a…edge to you, almost. Like you're a prankster."

"Um…" she said again. "Um…I dunno….I'm supposed to be working with my aunt this summer and…." She had only just met this man, and for all she knew, this job was a joke. What if he _wasn't _George Weasley, but someone else, trying to trick her? At her aunt's store, she knew she had a decent, if boring, job with good pay. Maybe not enough to run away from home, but it was a start. And, hadn't she always been told not to talk to strangers? She didn't….Verity wasn't sure if this was the best idea.

"Oh, well, if you already _have _a job, that's fine." George said, turning to go. In that moment, watching what sounded like a really fantastic opportunity-if it was real-slip through her fingers, she made up her mind.

"Wait!" she cried, grabbing his hand. "I'll do it! Hire me, yes! I'll do it."

"Good," George said, smiling. He reached into his pocket and fished out a card that had his number and address on it. "Call me Monday and we'll arrange something. Verity, was it?"

"Yes. Verity Cariad."

"Alright. See you Monday, Verity Cariad." He waved at her, giving Verity a finally smile before disappearing into the crowd. She was left clutching the card, feeling very confused and disoriented. What had she just signed up for? Her head was spinning and the music seemed louder than it had before. Had she really just signed onto a new job? With _the _George Weasley?

"Bye," she mumbled under her breath. "See you Monday."

Her mum was _not _going to like this.

….

_**Okay, this chapter's question is: Have you ever had to decide between two friends or girls or boys? Who'd you end up picking? **_


	42. Lily Luna Potter: There is No Problem

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon for the 'grey, negative' category (Write about someone avoiding other people or even just one person). Also written for the 'HP Potions Competition' by Black Boxed for the category '**__**Truth Serum**__** – **__**Write about an interrogation'. **_

_**This was an idea I'd already had for a while, but never bothered to write. **_

….

(_June, 2027_)

_Lily Potter Leaves Her Mother's In Tears!_

_Lily Potter, aged nineteen, was seen exiting her parent's house last night, and the girl did not seem very happy. It has been noted that the Potter females-Lily and her mother, Ginevra-have been arguing recently, and are rocky terms. However, it would appear that 'rocky terms' has progressed to full-out war, as Lily was noted to be crying when she fled from her childhood home. The cause of these tears is currently unknown, but it has been noted that mother and daughter seemed to be arguing about the younger Potter's current choice of occupation: Chaser and occasional Seeker on the Puddlemore United Quidditch team. _

"_Ginny's always been against her daughter flying," says an inside source, who wishes to remain anonymous. "I mean, flying professionally. She did it herself, once, but Mrs. Potter claims that flying pro, especially as a Seeker, will only get her daughter killed. She said it's a dangerous life for a girl surrounded by men, and Lily might even be safer as an Auror, like her father Harry and eldest brother James." _

_Whether it's true that Ginny Potter ever said her daughter would be safer as an Auror-who are known to live dangerous lives already, searching out Dark Wizards and vicious werewolves-is unclear, but what is obvious is that Lily Potter does not appear to be happy with her mother. _

_We attempted to speak with her as she was leaving, but this is all we received: "I don't want to talk about it," the redhead tells us, scowling fiercely as she walks away from her home. "It's my personal life, and you lot need to stop screwing with our bloody lives." _

_No comment could be made from Ginny Potter. _

….

(_August,_ _2027_)

_Ginny Potter, ex-Chaser, Says Her Daughter Is Endangering Her Life by Playing Quidditch_

_As you are all aware, Ginevra Potter, nee Weasley, spent nearly ten years of her life as a famous Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies from fall of 1998 to her final season in 2007, when she became pregnant for her third and final time. In early February of 2008, Mrs. Potter had her only daughter, named Lily Luna Potter after grandmother, Lily Evans, and good friend, Luna Scamander nee Lovegood. _

_Some would say that, as a once professionally competitive Quidditch player, Mrs. Potter has all the rights to speak against her own daughter going pro; others, however, are calling her a hypocrite, saying that she is crushing a young girl's dreams, while claiming to promote girls in Quidditch worldwide. _

"_I'm not saying she _can't _play," Ginny told us in an interview last week. "You lot are twisting my words around; I have absolutely _never _told my daughter she wasn't allowed to play. I love the fact that she's doing what she wants to do. She's a very talented flier, and I respect her decisions completely. If Lily wants to play, then she can-I'm not stopping her. All I am saying is that I hope she understands the physically demanding exercises that go along with Quidditch. Do I believe my daughter has the talent and skill to succeed in the professional world? Of course I do. I'm simply worried that she will struggle with transitioning from the world of Quidditch at school to the real world. At school, my daughter was protected by teachers and the idea that, should anything go wrong, someone would step in to prevent serious injuries. But, playing professionally, she might not be prepared for the fact that the other team _is _trying to hurt her. I don't want to be called into St. Mungo's because my daughter is on her death bed due to Quidditch accidents. I know what it's like, and I'm only worried for her. But, am I going to stop her from fulfilling her dreams? No, I would never do something like that."_

_Lily Potter told us: "My mum doesn't know what she's talking about. The rules have changed since she was playing. She doesn't understand." She gave us no further comment, only mentioning that, no, the two of them were _not _on speaking terms. _

_When we asked Ginny about this, she said: "We're not on speaking terms? Since when? I wasn't aware of that-Lily should have told me." But, then again, mothers and daughters always have arguments, don't they? Ginny Potter says so. "We're simply going through one of those stages right now. She'll realise what I'm saying soon enough-that I respect her decision entirely, if I am a bit hesitant-and this will all low over. She'll come back. When she sees sense, when she realises she's overreacting, she'll come back home." _

_Until Lily Potter 'sees sense', though, it would appear the two Potter women are at odds. _

….

(_May, 2028_)

_Lily Potter Hospitalized After Nasty Quidditch Accident_

_Lily Potter was admitted to St. Mungo's after last night's game between Puddlemore United and the Wimbourne Wasps, when she was punched by a member the other team-fellow Chaser Austin Donnelly. Lily Potter fell nearly a hundred feet, and was only saved by a quick thinking team member, who slowed the girl's progression down with a spell. It is unknown what the young woman's current state is, except that she is alive. _

"_I knew this would happen," said Lily's mother, Ginevra Potter. "I told her she would get hurt." We asked if she was planning on visiting her daughter, and Ginny scowled. "Lily has….taken me off the list of people who can visit her at St. Mungo's. Her brothers are on the list and so is Harry, but my daughter doesn't want to see me right now. We're in a rough spot, if you don't mind." _

_The Potter household later denied any of this, saying that Ginny had, quote, "Never said Lily wouldn't let me in. I said that I wasn't going to visit her tonight, not that she was intentionally excluding me."_

_The fight between mother and daughter began last year, after Lily was signed onto the Puddlemore team as chaser. The two have not spoken since that day, and apparently have had no contact in any other fashion. Whether or not this tense situation will ever improve is not clear, but it can be assumed that Ginny Potter, at least, would like to speak to her daughter again._

_Will they ever manage to resolve their issues, assuming that Lily survives her injuries? Stick with us for more next week. _

….

(_August, 2028_)

_Lily Potter sits down with us in her kitchen, two cups of tea on her table. Other than the barely visible scars on her arms, it is impossible to tell that this girl was nearly dead just this May, after falling off her broom in a Quidditch match. The twenty year old is speaking with us for the first time since the incident about what happened, as well as the strained relationship with her mother-which both women continue to deny is stressed at all, claiming things are 'going just fine', even if they haven't spoken in a while. Lily's mother is Ginny Potter, for those of you who haven't followed the Potter family these past twenty years, who also once was a famous Quidditch player but now writes for the Daily Prophet, in the Quidditch department. _

"_How are you?" we ask her, and she smiles calmly, showing us that she can walk just as well as before, even revealing a history in ballet, as she shows us a few moves. She seems happy, almost as if she's forgotten it ever happened. Lily is certainly secure where she is now, speaking with us shortly about the strenuous therapy she's been doing these past few months to recuperate. _

"_I'm getting back in the field next season, don't worry, this is only temporary," she says, smiling confidently. "I feel fine, you know? Almost like it never happened. In a few weeks, I'll be given the all-clear, and my life will be back to normal. I'm happy where I am."_

"_Do you regret the incident that left you unable to finish this season?"_

"_No, not really. I like to think everything that happens to me is for a reason. I've been spending the past few months re-evaluating my life, especially my relationship with my long-time boyfriend, Tomas. We're engaged now," she mentions, though, with a teasing laugh, she turns down our request to see the ring. "Later, maybe." She tells us. _

"_Speaking of re-evaluating your relationships, how are things with your mother?" we ask, expecting a light-hearted response. Instead, Lily becomes serious, frowning at us. The mood changes instantly, and Lily does not seem pleased. _

"_I don't want to talk about it," she says, getting up. "It's time to go." _

_However, we are not so easily deterred. "Have you spoken to her recently?"_

"_What is this?" she demands, shaking her head. "An interrogation? Why do you lot always insisting on prying into my personal life? Leave me alone! On top of that-leave my mother alone, you vultures. You're driving us all crazy, with your prying, and twisting our words around." She forces us to leave her home with the statement 'no further comments'. _

….

(_September, 2028_)

_Lily Potter was seen today with her mother, Ginevra Potter, having dinner in the park near their house. Sources confirm that the two have made up recently after a spat last year over Lily Potter's choice of career. Neither were available for comment. _


	43. Victoire Weasley: Fully Complete

_**I got my hair trimmed earlier. You have no idea how mad I am right now about that. I am real mad, though, in case you were curious. **_

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon for the category '**__**silver, positive'**__** (Write about something or someone beautiful. Alternatively, write about something coming to light).**_

_**Also written for the 'HP Potions Competition' by Black Boxed for the category '**__**Everlasting Elixir**__** – Write about someone who has everything they will ever need.'**_

_**So, super beautiful and has everything they need? Who does THAT sound like?! Me? Ah, thank you…Wait, what? Ooh, it sounds like Victoire, since that's this chapter's character? Yeah, yeah, just…go read the chapter. **_

….

Victoire Weasley knew she was different from any other girl she had ever met, anywhere. Victoire had been born beautiful; in most girls, that would have been a statement of cruel arrogance, stemmed from years of a good life. But for Victoire, it was simply fact-she was _born beautiful_. With silver-blonde hair and blue-green eyes, she was, physically, perfect. There were many conveniences of having Veela blood, among them, having no problem remaining skinny and never dealing with acne. She was also "gifted", as it might have seemed at one point, with ability to make men of any age fall in love with just a simple look or wearing a short enough skirt.

Victoire _knew _she was more than just pretty, that she was practically beautiful-as a young girl, she had been more than happy to take advantage of such a fact. Men, throwing themselves at her, giving her lavish gifts and complimented her like fools? As a teenager, of course she had loved that. There had never been a chance for her to feel insecure, because all around her were males-and, in some cases, females-complimenting her every breath.

Yes, she had sex with a few of them. Boys her age, boys a few years older, boys a few years younger. Men, once or twice, real, full men with years of experience who wanted nothing more than a sweet, beautiful little girl to fool around with. She could recall with startling clarity one thirty-five year old man who had wanted to act out _scenes _from movies, making her call him 'Daddy'. She had been sixteen.

Her father, too, had fallen under Victoire's charm and spell. Anything she wanted, anything she needed, and Bill would give her without batting an eye. The newest, fastest broom came out? She got it. Nice clothes from high-end shopping boutiques? She got that, too. When she was seventeen, she was gifted from her father with a car, a nice little, purple 2016 Audi. From her maternal grandparents, she received a villa in southern France, and enough money to buy a cottage in England.

Financially, Victoire wanted for nothing, with a Muggle bank account as well as a vault in Gringott's. Sexually, she usually had a casual thing with ex-classmate, Aaron Bonevelle, and every now and then, tried a more permanent thing with Teddy for a few months. She was happy in every way she could think of, and a few ways she hadn't imagined were possible. At twenty-one, she was a beautiful, young woman who had a lot of potential as an ambassador for England, working in the French ministry.

….

Victoire hadn't been to the cottage in England-which her younger siblings, Dominique and Louis had entitled _Maison du Silence Parfait_-in nearly three months. She lived there by herself for the most part, with the occasional boyfriend staying by for a few days or weeks. Usually, though, it was just her, by herself, and she lived in the comfort of solitude, all by herself-that was the way Victoire liked it, though.

Because she'd been in France most of the entire summer, and because she hadn't known when she was coming back, Victoire had not bothered telling anyone she returned, wanting at least a few days to herself to get used to home again, to relax. That was why it was to her great surprise that her fifteen year old cousin, Albus, was lounging on her front steps, fiddling with a Rubix cube. He laid across the steps casually, his dark hair a shock against his pale skin.

"Albus?" she asked, startled. The teen looked up from the now-solved cube in his hands, and smiled, getting to his feet. She allowed him to hug her, taking in the fact that he was now just an inch shorter than her, and just as skinny as ever. His glasses hung lopsided on his face, as did his smile; in other words, nearly identical to the boy she had left back in May, when they had celebrated his fifteenth birthday over several bottles of Butterbeer and old Mickey Mouse re-runs. It had been her last happy moment before leaving for France on a bad note after an argument with her mother.

"It's nice to see you, Vic," he said casually, smiling at her. "Nearly caught up with you, height-wise, haven't I?"

"Not quite," she replied almost instinctively, remembering their jokes about how Albus had gotten his height from Uncle Harry, who wasn't the tallest of men. She beckoned him inside, curious. "How'd you know I was here? I only just got to the Ministry a few hours ago."

"Scorpius said he saw you, and I wanted to come over." Albus said, following her into the kitchen, beginning to undo the solved Rubix cube, so he could do it again.

"And Scorpius Malfoy knew I had arrived at the Ministry by Portkey, when my own parents don't even know? How, exactly, does _that _work out?" She handed him a glass of apple juice, the only thing left in her fridge that didn't seem to have gone bad while she was gone. He took his glass willingly.

"Internship over the summer with Aunt Hermione." Albus replied calmly. "He's been rather _fascinated _by her work, recently."

"Ah,"

"How was France?"

"It was fine." she replied, still unsure of why her cousin was here. Despite the six year difference between them, as well as the further separation between Houses, the two of them had always been rather close; in fact, Albus was her favorite cousin, and she came to him with nearly everything. "I tried many different new wines-you would have loved some of them. I even got to watch a rendition of _Monsieur de Pourceaugnac _while I was there. It was all very lovely."

"Your life is perfect, isn't it, Vic?" Albus said, sounding suddenly bitter. She glanced at him, but he had lowered his eyes, staring at the floor. "You're pretty, you get anything and anyone you want, and you're free to just wander Europe without anyone questioning you."

"Did something happen, Al?" Victoire was now concerned.

"Oh, nothing at all, except that you got to go to _bloody France _this summer, and you didn't even _tell _me before you left! And then, I didn't get a single letter, and I had no idea where you even were the entire time, nor when you were getting back!"

"Al….I didn't think you'd be upset…."

"Of course you didn't think I'd be upset, Vic, all you ever think about is how perfect your own life is, and how you can make it better. You never think about the people you leave behind, the people you hurt. Me, Dom, Teddy. Ages and _ages _without seeing you, and you never say a word about what happened."

"Al, I'm sorry-"She tried to console him, touch his shoulder, but he only reeled away, scowling.

"I know you're trying to use Veela magic on me, Vic, and it's not going to work. I'm not _mad _anymore, only upset, because you left without telling me. Even Teddy wasn't sure where you'd gone-Merlin, Vic, he was nearly hysterical when he stopped by and you were gone."

"Teddy's a big boy," she said coolly, thinking of the twenty-three year old Metamorphagus. They had been going out before May, but she had slept with several men during the last three months, and she wasn't sure if she even _wanted _Teddy anymore. "He can handle it."

"He _loves _you, Vic. He's in love _with _you, you bloody idiot." Albus growled, scowling at her. "Maybe _you _are this beautifully perfect person who has everything they need, but the rest of us _aren't. _Teddy needs you, and I know, deep down, you _do _need him, even if you won't admit it." Albus took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself.

"Is that why you came over? To yell at me for ditching Teddy?"

"Mostly…." he sighed. "And, I wanted to be the first to say hi."

"Well, I _am _sorry, Al."

"I know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for yelling. I've missed you."

"Me, too."

….

Even if she _was _one of the most beautiful people she knew, even if she did seem to want for nothing, physically….Victoire was still lacking. If she would just _admit _it, her life might have been fully complete.

….

_**Now, this might make it seem like I don't much care for Victoire, but I hope you understand, I do really like her. In my headcannon, she had a sort of….strange desire to almost prostitute herself (my theory is that she was trying to almost make herself feel un-beautiful) but she wasn't a bad person. Yes, I do think she'd end up with Teddy, eventually, but before she married Teddy-or even said yes to the first date-Victoire was a little….loose. Experimental. I dunno. She's a nice girl, believe me. You'd like my headcannon Victoire. **_


	44. Angelina Johnson: Everything is Wrong

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon for the category 'gold, positive' (write about what it felt like when Voldemort was finally killed.)**_

_**This was also written for the 'HP Potions Competition' by Black Boxed for the category '**__**Draught of peace**__** – Write about life after Voldemort's death**__**.' **_

_**This was supposed to be up about, oh, forever ago, but I've been busy with real life and being sick and stuff. Sorry. For Martin Richard, Lu Lingzi, Krystle Campbell, and Sean Collier. No one should have died. No one should ever die. **_

_**Enjoy.**_

….

_Vintery, mintery, cutery, corn,  
Apple seed and apple thorn;  
Wire, briar, limber lock,  
Three geese in a flock.  
One flew east,  
And one flew west,  
And one flew over the cuckoo's nest._

–_Ken Kesey_

….

Wrapping up the rest of her childhood in a box was probably the hardest part, for Angelina. Oh, it seemed too easy, burying her best friends without a tear. It was much too easy, bringing in bodies of boys and girls younger than her, younger than her siblings. Watching complete strangers fall to the ground, burning and screaming, it was all so simple to do. She had been numb through it all, like she was only _watching _it all happen.

After Voldemort had fallen, after they had all screamed and cried and hugged each other-because it was so damn amazing they'd survived at all-after the original euphoria of _finally _being free….all she had felt was numbness. Horrible, awful numbness that had led to her wondering what was the point of it all. Was she suicidal? Hardly; but it had certainly been hard to get past the fact that she had, at one point, taken a knife to her wrists, only to discover she felt nothing at all. Her blood, dripping over the carpet, a dark, horrible red. She felt _nothing_ about it, nothing at all.

Later, Angelina had wrapped her arm up, wiping away the blood from the carpet, and she lied to Lee when he asked what had happened. She had gotten really good at lying about her feelings these past few years. Lying to George about how she felt for him, lying to Fred about how she _didn't _feel for him. Lying to herself, saying that everything was okay.

But, taking that little last part of her innocence, that last connection to her childhood, she finally broke. She was twenty years old, and it was July. She had finally given up the very last thing that tied her to being that scared little eleven year old. The little Angelina who had stood shoulder to shoulder with the Weasley twins, her fingers shaking, but her mouth set…she had disappeared, along with everything else. The innocent Angelina had disappeared the second she saw Diggory die, when she was seventeen years old. She had known of death and suffering, before, but watching Potter practically have a fit over Diggory's body had truly shaken her.

No one else seemed to have quite fixed _their _life, either. Katie still kept wandering around in a haze, as if she was expecting Fred to walk through the door. Alicia kept shrinking away from them all, clearly suicidal, as she blamed herself for the death of a stranger. George didn't seem to quite understand that he _was _alive, living in his own fragile shell. And Lee ran back and forth between all of his friends, consoling and comforting, when it was obvious he was broken up over Lavender Brown, the foolish little Gryffindor that he had fallen for.

She remembered when they had been _the _Gryffindor Quidditch team, perfect and flawless. In the air, they could practically read each other's thoughts, as if they were all one person. Oliver Wood all the way down to teeny tiny little Harry Potter, they had reflected determination and strength. Where had _they _gone, the team that worked so well together, the only way to beat them was to knock Potter or one of the Chasers unconscious? She knew, now, that no one was invincible and life almost _never _went the way she wanted it to.

So, why had it come to a surprise to her when, just a few months after the battle, someone had set up bombs in Diagon Alley, exploding the Quality Quidditch store, and killing seventeen. A few weeks later, several Death Eaters were captured after being caught in a house just an hour from Angelina. They had murdered a Muggle family of five. The world hadn't changed at all-there was still hatred, still a disturbing lack of connection in the Wizarding World. Life hadn't improved at all.

And Angelina had picked up her rag doll, stuffing her in a box, and buried her in the backyard. It had been old and faded, a little cloth doll that she had owned since she was a few months old. It had faded blue eyes and frayed brown hair, but she had carried the thing everywhere with her, even when she had graduated from school and started living on her own. The doll, Mukai she had named it, had brought her comfort that no one else could.

But, now, she knew that there was simply just no such thing as truly being comforted. There was always fear, and always death, and always pain in the world. People would suffer and people would be cruel. So, what was the point in clinging to a little doll that only made her feel like a six year old girl? It no longer made her feel safe, only lonely.

Voldemort had taken away the comfort and safety of the world. Even dead, his fear still crept through the world, crawling and snaking around. Angelina didn't know who to trust, she didn't know if she would ever be as safe as she had been, before. The Death Eaters-the Battle of Hogwarts-had taken that away from her and an entire generation of people. Of children, who would grow up, knowing that there had been a time when a Dark Wizard had said it was _okay _to murder people because they were different.

No, Voldemort had changed the world forever. It was fragile now, more than ever, just waiting for the next Dark Lord to come by with his Purist idealism. Waiting for someone to break the glass and destroy everything they had been working towards. Things would never be the same again.

Damn him.

...

_**This is probably NOT going to be the last of the Oh-Voldemort-is-gone-how-are-we-going-to-survive-s uch-a-tragedy! Because….guys, it's the entire FRICKIN' point of the series. The series is MEANT to lead up to this traumatising war that changes the world forever. OF COURSE I'M GOING TO BLOODY WRITE ABOUT IT! **_

_**Also, my bestie/fiancée, Krista, finally wrote her own story. Online, she is JackandRoryEqualsJacky. **_


	45. Daphne Greengrass: Perfect, Now

_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon for the category '**__**Gold, positive' (**__**Write about someone putting down another, or being mean to another.) **_

_**Also written for the 'HP Potions Competition' by Black Boxed for the category **__**Fake Protective Potion**__** – Write about someone who had been betrayed by a character they trusted.**_

….

(_Early 1998_)

She was _not _going to take it sitting down. She was not going to pretend like nothing was happening, like she didn't see a single thing. Daphne refused to act like she hadn't watched the other Slytherin girls, like she hadn't seen the way they prowled around like cats. They disgusted her, and she took no part in their atrocities. She refused to attack the others girls, ridiculing them in the bathrooms every morning. She refused to torture people, just because the Carrows said to.

_Oh, who was she kidding_? Daphne was just as bad as Pansy Parkinson or Millicent Bulstrode. She liked to pretend like she was all high and mighty, like she was above all the torture going on, but in reality, Daphne was just as awful as the rest of them. No, she didn't cast a single spell-the idea of raising her wand against another student both horrified and disgusted her greatly-but she also never said anything to stop Pansy. She didn't instigate anything, but she didn't solve anything, either.

The others liked to call her 'frigid' or the 'Ice Queen', because she was distant and didn't seem to quite _fit in_ with the rest of the Slytherins. They said she wasn't quite as crafty or cunning or power-driven as she was-and that was true. But, she did share their disturbing trait of obsessive self-preservation. She desired, just as much as any other Slytherin, to remain alive and to remain _liked_. She never dared to step out of line, because at least in the common room, she could belong to _something._

If she were to reject the ideals of her parents and friends, she would not only lose them, she would lose everyone. Her fellow Housemates would reject her, shun her, and label her as a blood-traitor, not even worthy to spit upon. But the Order of the Phoenix and the D.A. would call her a traitor and a spy as well; she wouldn't fit into either group, but instead get left behind, like usual.

Daphne was not a mean girl, not in the way that people stereotyped Slytherins as, but she was not a brave girl. She was not the type to step out of line, break out of character, even to save a life. After all, she was a Slytherin. Slytherins did not turn against their parents, and they certainly didn't help Muggleborns and blood-traitors. Not good Slytherin girls-and Daphne wanted to be a good girl, even if being good meant staring down her wand at a First Year.

The only thing Daphne could do was to sneak around in the dark, hope no one spotted her, as she helped the D.A. It wasn't that she thought they could win-they _couldn't_-but Daphne didn't think she would be able to stand watching children die because they had been beaten almost to death and then denied healing charms. She brought them those small things, all the time afraid someone would catch her.

….

Daphne had decided _not _to attend the latest detention session, which usually involved a few little kids, half a dozen D.A. members, and one or two of the more idiotic Slytherins who hadn't yet figured out that it was better to conform than to fight for freedom. Many of her fellow Housemates liked to stop by and 'help' the Carrows hand out their punishments in the form of Cruciatus curses and swift kicks or punches. Occasionally, punishment was cruel, soft words, or promises that-back home-no one loved them. There were threats of pain to their family, and murmured rumours that they would gladly go after your younger siblings, if you didn't do what they said.

But, Daphne had already helped to rough up the little Hufflepuff Hannah Abbott, and she wasn't sure her stomach was up for 'punishing' anyone else tonight, regardless of what the stupid reason was that the Carrows had made up. She didn't think she could handle watching some little boy or girl, bent over on the floor, and sobbing for their sanity. She wasn't ready to be quiet that evil, not on a Monday, not when she had just had dinner.

So, she decided that it would be better to skip out tonight, and instead, focus on her homework-a two scroll essay on the idiocy and uselessness of Muggles-rather than hear those cries. She just didn't feel like disgracing herself tonight. Daphne, instead, sat down at one of the empty tables-of which there were many, since most Slytherins no longer saw the need for studying, now that they practically ran the school-and began her essay. That, however, did not last very long.

"Hey, Greengrass," said Pansy Parkinson, sliding into the seat next to her. Her blonde hair was cropped just short enough to make her look menacing, but long enough to still be considered feminine. Behind her was the bulky Millicent Bulstrode and the tiny, angelic looking Tracey Davis. They all smirked at her, making a ring that circled around her seat, and she looked up from her work, confused.

"Uh, hey?" Daphne muttered, confused. Normally, the other girls in her House left her alone, content with her promises that she would _never _have considered defecting over to the _'other side'_. She had sworn her allegiance along with the rest of them, and usually, that seemed to be enough. Sure, they treated her wish suspicion, since she hadn't originally joined the Inquisitor's Squad during Umbridge's term, but she was still pretty low-key when it came to people noticing her.

"Your hair looks lovely tonight," Pansy said, still smirking. She had her arms crossed and her little pug face was split into a menacing, yet glee-filled, expression that made Daphne's stomach churn. "It looks very lovely tonight, yes. Wouldn't you say Daphne's hair looks lovely tonight, girls?" She turned towards Millicent and Tracey, who both nodded eagerly, like dogs trying to impress their master. "Yes, very lovely…" She trailed off, and Daphne frowned, wanting to flee.

"Is that all you wanted, to tell me you liked my hair?" she asked, borderline sarcastic, which seemed to surprise Pansy, as it was the most emotion Daphne had shown in the past couple months. "I can lend you my shampoo if you'd like. Is that what you want, Pansy?"

"Not quite, no," Pansy said, sliding her wand out of her pocket. Daphne could see, out of the corner of her eye, Millicent and Tracey doing the same. "We were just curious….does Goldstein love your hair as much as we do?"

"What?" Daphne frowned, both surprised and confused. Goldstein? As if Ravenclaw Anthony Goldstein? What did he have to do with anything? "What do you mean about Goldstein?"

"Oh, nothing…just that one of the little baby Firsty spies told _me _that you were with Goldstein last night, and you two almost seemed…._intimate_. Would you happen to know anything about that? I wouldn't ask, only, Goldstein _is _a half-blood, you know? His dad's a Muggle, I hope you know, seeing as the rest of the school does." Daphne's scowl deepened, and Pansy laughed. "Oh dear. Did your little boyfriend not tell you he was half Muggle scum? Or did you know already, and you just didn't care?"

"What are you _talking about_? I was never 'intimate' with any half-blood scum like him!" Except, even now, Daphne's mind was racing as she thought back to last night, when she had snuck out of the dorms to get Anthony some supplies that couldn't be found in the Room of Requirement; medicine, food, healing potions. She had thought no one spotted her, but apparently, she was wrong. _Oh shit. _

"Liar!" Pansy shrieked, her emotions changing as quickly as the weather, and she reached out, slapping Daphne. The smaller girl remained frozen in her seat, too startled to even touch her reddening cheek. She looked up at Pansy, alarmed at the ferocity in the other Slytherin's face. The pug-faced girl was scowling and breathing heavily as she stared Daphne down. "Don't _lie _to me, Daphne Greengrass! Don't you _dare _lie to me! You're a traitor, and you know that, don't you? And you know that _I _know, and that I'm going to have to punish you for this. You know what happens to Slytherins who lie and help the enemy, don't you, Daphne?"

"No!" Daphne balked, trying to pull away, but Millicent already had her meaty hands wrapped around Daphne's slender wrists, and was tugging her to her feet. The three girls dragged her to the door, as she kicked and screamed, howling for someone, anyone to help her. She passed by other Slytherins, people she had known for years, who only watched her go, blank-faced. They watched her go, acting like nothing was happening, and that just made it worse. It was just another day in the Slytherin common room, just another girl being killed because of silence.

She broke then, knowing it was all over. Her worst fears had come to truth; she had officially been rejected, left alone to die. She had no one left to turn to, stuck only with a group of psychotic and hateful girls who only wanted to see her cry and beg. And Daphne would do just that, and probably worse, because she was weak. Because she was a Slytherin, and she wanted to be respected. She was a Slytherin, and she didn't want to be left alone, because there was no one else in the world who would want her now.

….

"You _betrayed _me, Daphne. You little blood traitor, you've turned against your master, and you've turned against your ways-the ways that you know are _right_. Why are you being such a little twat, Daphne? Don't you realise, the only way to win is to stand behind the Dark Lord and do as he wishes, as he _commands_? Don't you understand-we're the ones who are right, Daphne. We're the ones who are going to win." Pansy had her on her back, her arms twisted out of sight, as someone else's warm hands lay on her legs, pinching and pressing her.

"I…know!" she gasped, tears prickling in her eyes. She wanted to puke, but there was nothing left in her stomach to throw up. She was empty, every bit of her.

"Do you, Daphne? Do you _truly _know? Because, I think if you _did _know, you wouldn't have made such a foolish mistake as helping some filthy half-bloods. You've turned against us, and you've got to be punished, don't you understand, Daphne? Because you certainly know _now _if you didn't before-what you did was inexcusable. I will never be able to trust you again, and the Dark Lord will certainly never trust you. You're a blood-traitor; no longer one of us, no longer my sister."

"Please…"

"Speaking of sisters," Pansy continued like she hadn't heard Daphne's weak cry. "I wonder if Astoria has the same ideals as her pathetic big sister."

"Please, no! Not….not Astoria! Leave….leave her alone!" they could hurt her, but Astoria hadn't done anything. She was innocent, she was a good little girl. Astoria did what she was told, and she didn't ask questions. Astoria would never have considered turning away from the Dark Lord, or helping people who were her enemies. Astoria knew which side she stood on, unlike Daphne. "You can't hurt her, you can't! She hasn't done anything, Pansy! Leave her alone!"

"Make me." Pansy said, sticking her pug-like, smug little face into Daphne's, breathing all over her. "_Make _me, slut. You don't even deserve the name of Greengrass anymore-you're not a Pureblood like us, you're nothing more than common trash. And you know that, don't you, Daphne? You understand?" Daphne, sobbing, nodded. "Good girl, Daphne." Pansy cooed, petting her head like she was a dog. "Millicent-"Pansy turned to look behind Daphne, her black eyes cold and cruel. "bring in little Greengrass, will you?"

"Alright." Millicent said, giving Daphne a cruel smirk as she turned to go into the hallway, where Astoria was being guarded by two Slytherins, shivering and confused. Daphne watched her leave, feeling helpless, as Pansy smiled down at her cruelly.

"See, Daphne? This is what happens to those who betray the Dark Lord. But don't worry-all you really need is some _re-conditioning_. You need to have your morals….adjusted, is all. There's nothing to cry about, really, you'll be fine soon enough, just as long as you cooperate with us. We don't want to hurt you, Daphne. We're only here to help."

Outside, Astoria was shouting, and Daphne moved to get up, every part of her being wanting to save her little sister. But Pansy only smiled again, walking out of the room to 'handle' Astoria, leaving Daphne in the cold, dark room, bound and frightened. Daphne screamed loudly, struggling against her bonds, but there was no one left to hear her, no one left to help. She was all alone-so terribly alone.

….

Everything was fine. Everything was perfect. They were all happy, because everything was fine. Purebloods were perfect, the rulers of the school, of the world. The Mudbloods and Muggles and half-bloods didn't understand; they didn't understand what is was like to be perfect. They didn't understand how damaged they were. The Mudbloods didn't understand that they weren't pure, or perfect like she was. They didn't understand-not like Daphne did.

Of course Pansy was right. Of course the Dark Lord was right. The Mudbloods needed to be punished, they needed to be taught a lesson. Justice needed to be served, and only the pure and worthy Slytherins could do that. Why hadn't she seen it before-how had she been so naïve to think that punished those below her was wrong? Of course not. Of course not.

Why hadn't she seen the truth before? Why had she thought this was such a bad thing? It had never been a bad thing, it had been the _right _thing, helping to cure the world. Really, she had just been overreacting, because she didn't know the truth. But, now, she had been fixed. She knew the truth-she knew her purpose in life, and she knew the purpose of all the filthy Mudbloods in the world.

She was perfect, standing between Tracey and Pansy, knowing she was perfect and powerful, and worth more than anyone else in the school, because she was a Pureblood princess. Who cared that her hands shook and she sometimes questioned all that went on around her? Pansy had fixed her, made her see the truth. Daphne was no longer blind, no longer crippled by the foolish thoughts she had believed unwittingly, tricked by the D.A. into believing that the Dark Lord was flawed. He could never be flawed-he was perfect, just like Daphne.

Daphne was perfect now. Everything was perfect now. She was happy. She was happy. Astoria didn't understand, she didn't seem to quite grasp that this life was the only life truly worth living, even if she did follow the Dark Lord. But that was okay, Pansy had said she could this. She could make Astoria see the truth. Pansy had made that her mission now, to help Astoria, and to help the others who didn't seem to be quite as confident. Astoria was a follower, yes; she was committed, yes. But did she know what she was committed to?

Daphne knew what she was committed to. Daphne saw the truth now, and she didn't hurt so much, now that her conditioning was complete. Now that she was fine. Because she was fine now, wasn't she? Daphne smiled all the time now, even when she was torturing the little filthy Mudbloods and blood-traitors, even the First Years. She was fine, yes.

Everything was perfect now. _Daphne _was perfect now.

….

_**I don't mean to offend any Slytherins with this chapter; really, I don't. When I say that Daphne is acting like a Slytherin when she does nothing, I'm being serious. Slytherins are big on saving their own backside, and Daphne is simply sticking with the side that she feels safest with. No, she's not a bully, but she's just as guilty by not doing anything. But, after all, she can't be blamed-she was only acting like a Slytherin, right?**_


	46. Sybill Patricia Trelawney: Phony

Perhaps her greatest accomplishment is the fact that she was able to trick even _herself_. Fool herself, and everyone around her, into believing she was part of something better, something bigger; yet, at the same time, make the world believe she was worth nothing, said nothing of use. (She wasn't quite aware of that last part, but if people wanted to call her a fraud, she'd take it with a smile and flaunt her way into nice parts of the castle.)

They thought she was ridiculous; they thought she was a liar. She'd never made any true predictions and she only seemed to spend her time drunk. Clearly, they said, she was just pretending. After all, there was no such thing as Seeing the future, right? That wasn't a real thing-it wasn't possible. It wasn't possible that Sybil Trelawney was somehow connected to the great unknown, when all anyone ever thought of her was that she was a drunk old fraud.

And that's what she was, right? She didn't really See the future, as she had once thought. She didn't really get premonitions-Sybil made it all up to impress students and keep her job. She'd never spoken a true prophecy, and she never would. All she was a fraud and absolutely everyone knew it.

She didn't quite understand why this happened to her, why she at least _thought _she could See the future, but no one believed her, anyway. They called her a liar and a fake, and a phony, and she took it all with a laugh and claiming that they weren't as _connected _as she was.

Except-what if it really _was _all fake? If she wasn't Sybil Trelawney, Seer, then who was she, besides a delusional old bat?

….

Sybil Patricia Trelawney was born on March 9th in the fairly uneventful year of 1961, just as the sun was setting. Her parents were Pastor Anthony Lipinski and his wife, Margot Trelawney. Sybil was born into a religious family, and they went to church every week, and it was nearly-borderline, sometimes- sacrilegious to ever even acknowledge that there was more to the world than just church and their little house.

While Margot never took her husband's name-a choice she never explained to anyone, not even her own mother-she was clearly in love with Anthony, going on to have another two daughters with him, named Vivienne and Adelina, born in 1964 and 1966, and lived in his house until Anthony's death.

Sybil did not quite have the most normal of childhoods, considering her mother was pretending to be a regular Muggle and her father _actually _was a regular Muggle. She and her sisters-who had been born normal, unlike her- were taught to do everything by hand, cleaning and cooking. They did their own laundry and Sybil learned quickly in her life that hiding the truth was the only way to survive.

Her father was kind, though sometimes a bit hard. He was the sort who liked insisting that they read the Bible every day, and that they regularly confessed their sins, but he was loving and kind to his daughters. However, he was entirely devoted the Church, and held all the views of most church-goers, including their negative views on magic. Between the fear of being rejected by her father and her mother's cardinal rule was that she never reveal any accidental or intentional signs of magic-lest her father think she was possessed by spirits-Sybil grew up magically stunted.

The family attended church every week without fail, Margot sitting with her three little girls in the front row, as Anthony yelled from his pulpit about the evils of magic and the dangers of being over-taken by demons. Sybil slowly began to wonder to herself if she _was _a thing of evil magic, not worthy of God's love. Sure, Mummy was magic, too, but she never practiced it-surely _that _saved her from being condemned to Hell. Viv and Ade were also safe, Sybil knew, because they were _little _girls, and they were normal, like Daddy.

But _Sybil _must have been born of some evil, because, not only could she do magic, she _liked _doing magic. She liked the fact that things could just fly over to her, or birds seemed to follow her around, or that she got these strange _feelings _about things that were going to happen. Sybil had tried to explain to her mother that she knew when it was going to rain, or when someone was visiting-that she could not only see it, but _See _it-but her mother rejected it as childish nonsense.

So, the little girl was forced to keep her oddities to herself, pretending like everything was normal. She tried hard to resist the images of test answers in her head, or when she looked at a boy during lunch and saw his entire future-a future that never seemed to involve her, like she had just disappeared from the minds of everyone at school. Sybil tried her best to refrain from telling her mother when Vivienne was about to win a dance competition or when Adelina had fallen off the swings and scraped her knee.

She tried her best to be normal, like everyone else. But then, she turned eleven years old, and her life changed forever.

….

Sybil knew she was different. She knew she could do things that no one else seemed able to. _Magic_, she wanted to call it. _Devil's sorcerery_, her mother explained. _You're possessed-evil, and unfit to live in this household. There are places for people like you. People who have been touched by the Devil himself and don't refuse him, like I did. _

_What is this place called, Mamma? _She asked, the little girl twisting to see her mother's face, which was darkened by shadows and appeared distant and cold, as if she could barely stand to be around her eldest daughter. Sybil didn't know it, but her mother hated her, because Sybil could do magic, and her mother was too afraid.

_It's called Hogwarts. It's for evil little girls, little girls who would only corrupt their baby sisters, if they refused to go. You don't want to corrupt your baby sisters with the Devil inside you, right, Sybil?_

_Oh, no, Mummy. Of course I don't! _She said earnestly, shaking her head. Her eyes were wide as she tried to convince her mother that all she wanted was for her sisters to be safe; to be normal.

_Yes, you do, you little demon. All you want to do is corrupt and destroy. That's why I'm sending you to Hogwarts, to keep the rest of us safe. _

Sybil didn't think she really wanted to go to Hogwarts anymore.

….

At eleven, she _did _go to Hogwarts, with the excuse that it was for strange girls like her, girls with 'problems'. Her father saw her off to the train, with Vivienne and Adelina waving at her from the car window, neither seeming too upset at her departure. Sybil, however, cried profusely, wishing she could kiss and hug them one last time, explain to them that they were the best sisters in the world, and she would miss them.

Not for the first time, Sybil wished she could be normal, even when surrounded by hundreds of people all like her. Sybil wished she could walk around without the mask that she constantly showed the world, a mask of innocence and bravery. Because, she was different, even by magical standards. It seemed that Sybil had retained her great-great-grandmother's talent for seeing the future.

Her great-great-grandmother, a woman named Cassandra Trelawney, who had been a famous Seer, world-renowned. Sybil hadn't found out until the day after her birthday, when her mother had explained everything to her.

_I know you can See things that no one else can, Sybil. It's because you are very, very different. You have a Gift, a Gift to know what others only wish they could know. You can See the future, because your great-great-grandmother Cassandra could, too. You are just like her, just as Gifted, just as Cursed. No one will ever believe you; you will always be plagued by doubt, people constantly questioning your authority. I wish this Gift on no one, least of all my daughter, who is already so damaged, as you are. _

Sybil didn't quite understand why she was this way, but it helped to know there were others like her; others who were strange, and different, and attracted to the unknown beauty of the future.

….

Her first ever Divination lesson was when she was thirteen years old, in 1974. She was one of the few people who seemed truly interested in the subject, rather than simply attending to fulfill necessary hours. The other students were close-minded, unable to See anything that was beyond their noses; Sybil, however, was a star student. She could See things, people and objects, describe in detail what the day's events would be like tomorrow. The teacher, a dotty old woman named Professor Lipinski, doted on her, praising her constantly.

_You have a true gift, Ms. Trelawney! A true gift! I've never seen anything like it….not since your grandmother, Cassandra. _

Sybil would have offered to use this 'gift' of hers to help others, if only they asked. If someone had asked her about surprise quizzes or the outcomes of games, or any of the other millions of things she saw happening—she wouldn't have said no to any offers to help them. Instead, they shunned her, calling her weird and different.

_Sybil's not quite the same as the rest of us. _

_She's not….in touch with reality. _

_She's so strange. _

_Unknown. _

_She's a fraud. _

_Yeah, she's just making this stuff up! There's no way anyone could predict all that stuff!_

_Sybil Trelawney's just a fraud, pretending to be her grammy. _

….

When Sybil was fourteen, her father passed away, and left the strange, mysterious girl with her mother and her two sisters. Ms. Trelawney (who had never changed her name, nor truly ever acknowledging any true marriage between her and her husband, despite being married to him for nearly sixteen years, clearly devoted, in her own way) took her three daughters and moved in with Sybil's grandmother.

The grandmother was a stern, old woman who seemed very harsh on her daughter for giving up marriage, and-even worse-marrying a Muggle. Sybil wasn't sure why this was bad, but the grandmother (Sybil never did learn her name, only that she seemed to think Sybil _was _Cassandra) liked her in a way the teenager had never experienced before.

_You're different, _the grandmother told her, grinning. She was missing several teeth, and Sybil was certain birds would soon start nesting in her hair. _You're mysterious, like me. I like it. You're not a wash-up mess like Margot, and you're not boring and complacent like those little girls. _

_Viv and Ade aren't little. They're very mature, Grandmother, even if they are eleven and nine. Eleven and nine is very grown up. _Sybil said, recalling when she had been eleven years old, riding on the train to Hogwarts. Recalling the Hat yelling _Ravenclaw! _into her ears, as she beamed, knowing she belonged somewhere, finally.

_But fourteen is even more so, and when you get to be as old as I am, you realise eleven and nine are nearly infants, compared to how long I've lived. Besides, they'll never experience the world the way you and I do. Muggles, bah. They never notice anything, do they? But you, Sybil…you've got the power of Cassandra inside of you! You're special. _

….

She's never made a true prediction before. She's never been able to prove her worth as a Seer, constantly plagued by nightmares and cruel taunts. They're right, of course, she's only a fraud pretending. Only a little girl, playing at being good at something. Her great-great-grandmother was a true Seer, but Sybil was not.

She couldn't predict her way out of a paper bag, so she made things up. She told elaborate stories, hoping one of them would come true, so she could lay credit. She didn't See pictures in her head, she couldn't See the future. She was no one special, no one with any true talent.

_Fraud._

_Fake. _

_Phony._

She didn't know anything.

….

"I _am _sorry for your loss, Severus." She said, waving her hands wildly. She could feel her glasses slipping off her nose and her shawls seemed to be giving off a strange smell, (almost like cooking sherry, but she wasn't sure where that might have come from) and Sybil had a raging headache from whatever she had done last night. "I know how it feels, losing the one you love."

Severus gave her a strange look, as if she were mad. (Well, she was, but that part didn't truly matter right now.) "Excuse me? I haven't lost anything, I can assure you, Sybil." He sniffed at the air, looking disgusted, but then, Severus usually looked disgusted, even when Sybil wasn't around.

"You're very sure of that?" Sybil said, her blue eyes going wide. She wasn't sure where this sudden bout of inspiration was coming from, (certainly, not from the sherry?) but she hadn't made a so-called prediction in a while, and this seemed right. "You're very sure nothing has happened today? Or is _going _to happen?"

"I am quite positive, yes, thank you." He turned to leave, but Sybil suddenly felt the urge to reach out and grab his cloak, her eyes bugging as she stared at him. "Excuse me, please let go!"

"_He's coming_," She rasped, her eyes nearly rolling to the back of her head. Severus gawked at her, startled, as Sybil began convulsing, seeming to be entirely unaware of where she was. "_He's coming. Him, the Dark Lord, the Killer of All. The prophecy is coming true, and there is nothing we can do._"

"What? The Dark Lord…." Severus trailed off, his face pale. Suddenly, he took off down the hallway, his dark cloak fluttering after him like wings. He ran all the way to his office, barely taking a look at the calendar next to the door, which had all been marked out except for the very last day, October 31st. 1981 was almost over.

Back in the hallway, Sybil shook her head, bemused. Where had Severus gone? She shrugged, deciding it wasn't important, and headed off to the hospital wing, where she had intended on going to get more Headache Cure. She wasn't sure what had been going on last night, but her head was really pounding now.

_Fake, _

_phony. _


	47. Maisie Cattermole: Just Another Day

_**Written for the 'HP Potions Competition' by Black Boxed for the category **__**Death-Cap Draught**__** – Write about a nightmare.**_

_**Also written for 'The Year Without a Savior Challenge' by Ryah Ingis with the date January 9, 1998 (and if you don't know why that exact date is so special, then I suggest you just go home and just don't bother me, because I have mentioned this day before.) **_

….

Maisie just wanted it to all be over-all the suffering, all the tears. She was ten years old, she was just a little girl. Everyone expected her to act like a little girl, and yet, they asked so much of her. A little girl, and she's supposed to go to Hogwarts next year, except her mummy and daddy have run away, and there is nowhere to go.

At ten, she was expected to take care of her younger siblings, who were seven and four. She was expecting to be mature, and understand that her world was in chaos. That every day was a struggle to stay alive, because her mummy was something called a _Muggleborn. _That was why they had come to Uncle Darren's house, because England was no longer safe. There were Dark Wizards and people who didn't like Mummy. People who wanted Mummy-and Daddy-_dead_. That was why they had come to Aberystwyth.

Aberystwyth, _Aberystwyth_. The place of eternal torture, because all it meant was sleeping in a tiny room with her family, and being told to _stay inside_, because Snatchers had been spotted just a few miles south of the Rheidol. Maisie hated the place, because it wasn't home. It wasn't her nice little cottage in Carradale, where the grass danced like waves in the summer. Wales was cold and the river was frozen. She had nothing to do.

Maisie hated Aberystwyth in the same way she hated baths, or stupid Dark Lords that had scared her parents into running away from home, where all of Maisie's friends were. Here, she only had her cousins: Aderyn who was fourteen, Aeron who was eleven, and baby Afanen, who was only three. Sure, Ellie could play with her, but the little girl was mostly interested in sleeping in trees or baby-sitting the little kids. And Aeron was a _boy_-Maisie couldn't play with _him_, it would be embarrassing.

Instead, the ten year old got into trouble with the adults by coming in dirty from all the rain, or running through the fields with the dogs. She didn't _mean _to be naughty, it was just that she was so bored.

….

That particular day, Maisie hadn't been planning to get into any trouble. Then again, she rarely had any chances _to _get into trouble, considering this sleepy little town of fourteen thousand people had very little to offer her in ways of entertainment.

Aunt Danielle taught her children at home, believing their education to be furthered, even more so than at Hogwarts, under her diligent hand, as well as being educated by a few of the other witches and wizards in town. Here in Wales, no one seemed to care what sort of blood you had running through your veins, as long as you were productive every day.

Maisie didn't know how productive she was, but often, Uncle Darren would send her out of the house to guide his dogs along with the sheep. They were big, black and white things, with long tongues and authoritative barks-a lot like Uncle Darren himself. The dogs were named Benji and Caspus, two sheep dogs who knew how to take control. Maisie often ran behind them, breathing heavily to keep up, as they followed Uncle Darren's sheep through fields, keeping watch on them all.

Maisie hadn't seen anyone else when she stepped out that morning, her feet bare. Maisie had out grown her only pair of shoes around Halloween, and Aunt Danielle had told her that running around barefoot would help strengthen not only her feet, but make her faster. So, every day, Maisie would dart out of the house, shoeless, and wearing little more than coveralls and a coat.

Caspus, who was the elder of the two dogs, led the group through the field, with Benji yipping at a few stray sheep, and Maisie yelling like a howling wolf. This was one of the few times she was allowed outside, and she loved being with the dogs, feeling the wind in her hair, and the hard earth under her toes.

Suddenly, Maisie tripped over a root, and she went flying, her blonde hair covering her eyes as she fell to the ground. The girl remained on the dirt for a minute, feeling her arms, which stung. She scowled, sitting up, and swiping at tears. Ahead of her were the dogs and the sheep, who had all continued without her.

_There was also a man_.

He had blonde hair and pale skin, she could see even from this distance, but Maisie couldn't make out any truly distinguishing features, since the man was nearly sixty metres away. She knew, however, that she had _never _seen him before on the fields, or even in town-Maisie had made it her job to recognise everyone in town as quickly as possible, and this was a stranger.

The man seemed to see her, as he waved at her, coming closer, now only fifty metres away. She could just make out the sliver of wood in his hand-_a wizard with his wand_-and the smirk on his face. Maisie shivered, frozen to the spot. The man raised his free hand again, waving at her slowly. The girl shuddered, her face twisted in fear.

"Hello, halfling!" he called at her, a cruel tone clearly evident. "How's Mummy? Still playing with that wand she stole? Poor little Mudblood, wishes she could be like the rest of us. Shame, really." he was still smiling, spinning his wand between his fingers, as he walked closer. _Thirty metres. _

"G-go away!" she cried, taking a step back. She could just see Caspus and Benji, little specks amongst a white cloud. "I don't know you!"

"No, you wouldn't, would you, halfling? I bet Mummy and Daddy have been trying to keep _you _hidden from us, you and your little siblings, right? What're their names, Ellen and Alfred?" He smiled, seeing the shock on her face. _Twenty metres. _She could make out scars around his ears, and the sharp teeth of his smile.

"Leave me alone!" she cried, stepping away from him. "I don't want to talk to you!" He was still moving towards her, grinning.

"Maisie?" called someone behind her, and she turned to see Uncle Darren on the porch, waving at her. "Maisie, come inside," He said calmly. "Get away from that man, now."

Maisie turned, ignoring the man, and ran inside, not looking back.

….

_The man stands over her, knife in hand, and he smiles. His teeth are sharp and bright, his eyes large and blue, as he stares at her, almost as if he's seeing into her brain. His robes are dark, and touch the floor, masking everything except his face. His face, his face-how horrible it is, with his pale skin and the strange scars that wrap around his face. He's small and scrunched over, his ears lopsided, and his hair a scruffy blonde. _

_Maisie wants to scream, to kick at him, to do anything, but he's got her pinned down, and she can't do anything, or make any noise. A cloth covers her mouth, and her arms and legs are tied down. His teeth flash in her eyes as he leans down, his fingers playing at the skin of her neck. She can see Ellie behind her, standing calmly, with a pitcher of water in her hands. The brunette is crying, her dress soaked with blood and other liquids, but the man only hisses at her. _

"_Shut it, halfling!" he snarls, turning back to Maisie. "C'mon, my pretty, let's see if you've really got dirty blood, like they say." His nails cut into her skin, and Maisie, her eyes going wide, shrieks against the cloth, watching the blood pour out of the scratch marks. Maisie spits out the cloth, and gives him a look of pure hate. She howls, thrashing against her restraints. _

"_Lookit, halfling! Your blood _is _dirty! Just like they said!" She looked down, to see her brown blood, mixed with dirt. Worms crawled all over her, and spiders seemed to be nested into her hair. Maisie shrieked again and again, wanting to be anywhere but here. Even sleepy __Aberystwyth was better than this, right now. _

…..

"Maisie!" someone yelled in her ear, and Maisie sat up, her hair in wild tangles. It was still dark outside, in the last hours of January ninth, and the two sisters were huddled together in bed, a little away from Aderyn and Afanen. Maisie felt her sweaty skin, and she knew her face was flushed. She blushed, looking away from Ellie.

"I'm fine," she gasped, rubbing her hands through her hair, which was also soaked with sweat. "I'm fine, Ellie." Ellie gave her a dubious look, and Maisie scowled. "I'm _fine_, Elle, really. It was just a dream. Look, see? I'm just a little shocked, is all. I'm fine, look at me."

"Are you sure, Maisie? You look terrified."

"I'm fine, Elle. After all, it's just another day."

"We'll get out of here soon, right, Maisie?" Ellie asked, her big blue eyes looking into Maisie's own, begging her sister for some comforting advice. Maisie gave her a hug, even though she was soaked entirely through, and whispered into her sister's ear:

"Of course we'll be fine, Ellie. Just give it some time. I'm sure You-Know-Who can't stay around forever. By this time next year, I'm sure he'll be long gone."

"Promise?"

"Of course." She was lying. She always was, when it came to this sort of stuff, but it was the only thing that kept _Ellie _from having any more nightmares than was necessary. She was only trying to help-to be the best big sister she could.

After all, it was just another day in her life, just another day of fear.

….

_**Aberystwyth is a small town on the west coast of Wales, where my good friend Kristal was born. I just thought I'd post the Cattermoles there, as a birthday present to her. So, happy 16**__**th**__**, Kris! Also, Carradale is in Scotland, where my second-cousin, Aerywen is from. **_


	48. Parvati Patil: Something More

_**Written for 'HP Potions Competition' by Black Boxed for the category **__**Bruise Removal Paste**__** – Write about a physical fight.**_

_**Also written for the 'Out of Your Comfort Zone' by Cheeky Slytherin Lass using the pairing Dean/Parvati, with the prompt 'rumours and reputation'. **_

_**So…it's been a while since I posted a 'We Are Stronger' chapter…well, like a couple of weeks, but still. I've missed you guys. Hug? **_

_**Enjoy! **_

….

"_We've changed the world-that doesn't mean we've changed the people."-Lubenecci_

"_You've altered human history, and there's still assholes around. Was does that tell us?"-Lubenecci_

"_Find a nice guy to settle down with fast, he won't last long."-Lubenecci _

….

She knew that what she was doing was probably _wrong_, but right now, Parvati didn't care. She was in pain, bleeding and bruised, and all she wanted to do right now was talk to her friend, Dean. Screw the fact that he was currently dating her sister, Padma. Let people think what they wanted-she only wanted to talk to him, nothing more.

(Certainly, she wasn't going to see him because he was cute and muscular and understood her better than anyone she knew.)

Dean had been telling her for ages now that she ought to just _leave _her boyfriend, a boy a few years older than herself who had also been in Hufflepuff at one point. His name was Jakobi Gaadstran, and she had originally thought he was the nicest man she'd ever met. Maybe she had been stereotyping him because Jakobi was from Hufflepuff, but in the beginning, he had been really sweet.

They went out to dinners and movies all the time together; he took her to plays, and coffee houses, and Parvati even met most of his family during Hanukah-which had been sweet, but awkward, seeing as Jakobi's grandmother had spent most of the time discussing the fact that Parvati wasn't Jewish.

But, after almost a year of dating-with absolutely no warning-Jakobi had turned violent. He came home drunk at night, angry and looking for a fight. He accused her of infidelity with practically everyone, including the scrawny cat that Parvati had taken in a few months back. He would become angry at her, looking for excuses to drag Parvati into the bedroom, where they often had violent, usually unwanted, sex.

Parvati was a smart girl-she knew she was in a bad relationship, but usually, Jakobi didn't get _that _drunk, or _that _mean. When he was sober, he was sweet, apologising for what he'd done, promising he'd never do it again. He never kept his promise for long, but she knew he couldn't help it. Jakobi was a party-person, and that was how he dealt with the stress in his life.

When Dean had found out, he had threatened to call the police on Jakobi, and it was only because Parvati begged him not to, did he not just go over to her flat and straight up _murder _the Hufflepuff. She tried to explain that he wasn't a _bad guy_, just one with his morals mixed up a bit.

Usually, Parvati defended Jakobi, making excuses, but not tonight. Not tonight, when she had come home to find him in bed with another woman; not when he only smiled and invited her to join them-that she couldn't handle. She flew into a rage, attacking both him and the woman, (a Muggle) screaming all sorts of obscenities and threats.

Jakobi had gotten angry, and pushed her to the ground, calling her a slut and a whore, saying she had never pleased him enough-that's why he had to find another new girl, because Parvati wasn't good enough. He punched her, hard and repeatedly, and she felt blood in her mouth, where he had knocked out a tooth. She screamed at him, telling him to get off her, she was leaving, but that only upset him more; he began screaming that she was his, that Parvati couldn't leave, because Jakobi owned her.

Parvati wasn't quite sure how she managed to escape the flat, but the next thing she remembered was wandering the streets of London late at night, bloody and alone. She kept expecting it to start raining-that could only _complete _her day-but the night stayed cool and dry.

Arriving at Dean's flat, she paused, wondering if her sister, Padma, was in. Padma was _technically _Dean's girlfriend, except for the fact that she seemed to have completely forgotten, and so had Dean, apparently, considering the fact that he had attempted to kiss her the last time she was over.

"Hey, Vati." Dean said, opening the door and smiling down at her. Parvati could see the look of attraction in his eyes, and she struggled to resist the urge to just pin him against the wall right then and there. But she couldn't-because this was Padma's boyfriend, and people would talk if they thought anything had happened.

"Hey, Dean. Where's Padma?" she asked, as he let her in. Padma usually spent nights with Dean, and Parvati had almost become accustomed to seeing her twin, or at least sensing her presence all over the flat. But now, it seemed as if she had completely disappeared, and taking every bit of her with her.

"She moved out last week…something about wanting to rent with Luna Lovegood?" Dean shrugged. "I dunno, what's it matter? I mean, it seems like we've been moving apart recently, anyway-we might not make it much longer, and then I'll be single, won't I?"

Parvati blushed at his suggestive manner. Dean had never been so open with her when it came to flirting, and, even though she knew he was attracted to her, she had always assumed he was attracted because she looked like Padma. (She had never considered that maybe he was attracted to Padma because she looked like Parvati.)

"What's wrong with your arm?" he asked, pointing at the purple marks on her arm, which Parvati quickly tried to cover up, blushing profusely. "Vati, come on? Who did that to you? Was it Gaadstran? I bet it was-Merlin, I'm going to _kill _him!"

"No!" she yelled, startling both of them. "No," she said more quietly. "Please, Dean, just _no._ I don't want to bring any more trouble around because of all of this. I just…I came here because I thought you could make me feel better."

"Me?"

"You're my best mate, Dean. The only one I can trust, the only one I can talk to anymore….and…."

"And what?" He was smirking now, as if he knew what Parvati was about to say, like he could read her mind, and she blushed.

"I was kind of…lonely….and I wanted to be with you. Like, maybe as more than friends?"

"I'd like that too, Vati." He said, and he gave her a soft smile, cupping her face in his hands, kissing her tenderly on the lips. "I'd like that, too."

….

As Parvati left Dean's, she saw a woman across the hall, looking at her and smirking. Parvati frowned, trying to think of why she might have known this woman-she looked rather familiar-before realising it was her co-worker, Tracey Davis, who was looking directly at Parvati with a knowing look.

Tracey Davis, a known gossip, had just seen her leaving _Dean's _apartment, looking rustled, and rumpled, and like she had just had a wild night with her sister's boyfriend. Oh _shite. _

Well, there would certainly be rumours tomorrow at work.

….

_**If you'd like, I have a semi-companion piece to this with one of my new stories, 'Glow', taking place around the same time. Also, a connecting story about Rolf Scamander will be coming out….eventually, though the title is currently unknown.**_

_**And, yes! Jakobi Gaadstran makes a little return. Except, you know, as an arsehole. Well, a bigger arsehole. **_

_**Reviews make my cough go away. Ugh. **_


	49. Rita Skeeter: The Mirror-People

_**Written for the 'If You Dare Challenge' by Slytherin Cat, using prompt # 18, prolific romance novelist. **_

_**Also written for the 'HP Potions Competition' by Black Boxed, for the category **__**Invisibility Potion**__** – Write about someone who is spying on someone else. **_

_**Enjoy.**_

….

_She looked in the mirror, seeing herself and him together. They were holding hands, the two of them, and mirror-her looked very happy; happier than she'd ever been in real life. She couldn't help it, feeling a tug towards the mirror, and she rested her hands on the cool glass, looking deeply into the mirror-man's eyes, and she sighed, content. The mirror-people smiled at her, and then she fell in. There were shouts behind her, friends calling for her to come back. Someone had grabbed the edge of her coat, trying to bring her back, but the mirror-people were stronger, and she really didn't want to stay. She could just barely hear the shouts of her sister, who had come in suddenly-_

Rita paused, hearing a large clanging downstairs that made her jump suddenly. Her quill fell from her fingers, rolling somewhere under the desk, but she didn't notice, too busy listening intently. She moved quickly and quietly to her bedroom door, cracking it open a sliver, so she could hear more easily what was going on. Across the hall, her sister, Kitty, had opened her own door, and was waving at her to stay quiet. The two girls crept from their rooms, moving towards the banister. Underneath them, Mr. and Mrs. Skeeter were glaring daggers at each other.

"They're at it, again," Kitty whispered, making a face. Kitty was the older daughter by three years, and had been protecting her younger sister for the past several years. Only recently had Kitty even admitted that it was Mum and Dad _fighting_, and not just the occasional, manageable sort, either; Kitty had explained that Mum and Dad really didn't want to be married, but they had to because of some sort of contract between their parents-Rita's grandparents, a bunch of stuffy, traditional witches and wizards, not the sort of people she liked.

Rita sat down next to Kitty, who was peering over the railing at their parents, a cold look in her eyes as she messed with a quill, spinning it around and around in her hands. Although she was only ten, Rita was not stupid; she could see her sister was tense, and angry. Rita understood that-she hated when Mum and Dad fought, as well, though she didn't see the point in getting mad about it. They were going to fight, and they had been fighting for ages. She didn't quite understand why Kitty always got angry or stormed around upstairs whenever their parents started yelling at each other; Rita usually just turned her radio up a little louder, listening to Jerry Keller and Craig Douglas, pretending like everything was fine.

"I'm working on my book," the blonde murmured to her sister, as the two of them scooted away from the railing, their parents still going at each other downstairs. The sisters crept into Kitty's room, which was dark, with lots of heavy blankets and curtains everywhere. Kitty didn't often let her sister into her room, but Rita didn't want to be alone when the house seemed so angry, and she didn't want Kitty to be alone. Rita flopped down on her sister's bed, which was lumpy and uneven. "It's a decent book, I think. I'm calling it _The Mirror-People_. Can you imagine? It would be sold world-wide; internationally famous." She sat up, her hair sticking up wildly as she stared at her sister-something wild had just occurred to her. "Me, Marguerite Skeeter, the best romantic novelist-the best _novelist_ in the world. You'll regret all those times you ever called me Marge, then, won't you?" She got a dreamy look on her face, and, with a laugh, she fell backwards onto the bed with a sigh. Kitty rolled her eyes, flopping down next to her sister.

"You'll be a prolific romance novelist in no time, Rita." Kitty said dully, clearly not really meaning it as she stared up at the ceiling, her eyes glassy, her cheeks flushed. "Everyone will love you, and I'll apologise for being a mean big sister all these years, and Mum and Dad will just _love _you, won't they? Life will just be _perfect_. Maybe, after you've become famous, you can help me raise Idris, since _Mum _certainly isn't." She had a wild look to her, Kitty's blonde hair rumpled; she was breathing wildly as she stood up, moving away from the bed, and her sister.

"I'm sorry, Kitty-I didn't mean to upset you. I just….it's just…" she trailed off, not sure what she really meant to say. She had just wanted to tell her sister about her newest story, a wonderful story about a lonely girl who just needed someone to be there. Rita had always wanted to be a novelist, or a journalist. It would be fun to write stories for some place like _The Daily Prophet_, though that would likely never happen. Rita's mum liked to say she exaggerated everything that happened-the sort of thing that would never get her anywhere in life.

"You just want to be like Mum, don't you? A famous writer, with hundreds of fans who ask her questions every day? With a wonderful, handsome husband and three beautiful children, that make her look fantastic and put-together?" Kitty spat the words at her like insults, each syllable a sharp barb that twisted in Rita's gut. She hated when people fought, especially when it was Kitty and her. Kitty had become so bitter and guarded the past couple years; Rita felt like she had never truly known her sister before-a stranger had come in and taken place. "I guess you want to have an unsuccessful marriage and a stressful job, as well, Rita? Leaving your children to take care of each other, even if one of them's only thirteen, and doesn't know how to take care of a two year old? You want to do _that _to your family?"

Rita felt tears stinging her eyes as she got up from Kitty's bed. She wanted to hit someone or something-Kitty, maybe-or toss all her quills out the window. Her head was spinning as she rushed out of her sister's room, Kitty's words echoing in Rita's head. She _hated _arguing, and she _hated _when people mocked her. Kitty had never believed in her. Mum had never believed in her. Well, Rita would show _them_-she'd be famous, one day! The most famous writer for _The Daily Prophet_, and the best novelist, as well. Rita slammed her door, looking down at the story she'd been writing at her desk. She sighed, sitting down in her chair, and began writing again.

_-her little sister, who she had always promised to protect and love. But, in the mirror-world, she never had to worry about taking care of everyone, ever again. She just had to focus on being with the mirror-man, who would love her and treat her the way she ought to be treated. She didn't want to leave anyone behind-didn't want to leave anyone hurt and lonely, but she just wanted to have one time where she can put herself before anyone else, because she'd spent her entire life just helping out. She had to go to the mirror-world, where she would finally get a break and find the love of her life. _

_Kitty stepped out of the mirror, into the mirror-world, with a smile, taking the mirror-man's hand. _


End file.
